


The Motley Crew

by JeezLouiseWoman



Series: Proteus [2]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bucky’s a bit of a bi disaster, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), SamBucky if you squint, Sharon Carter will make a brief appearance much later, Swearing, Violence, also mentions of The Punisher characters and events, also some FrankBucky if you squint, everyone’s got a little PTSD, lots of friendships going on, mentions of Agents of SHIELD characters, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, mostly canon-compliant, she’s pretty open about it, there’s a lot of ambiguity with sexuality except for my OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeezLouiseWoman/pseuds/JeezLouiseWoman
Summary: “Let's see...” She points to each of them as she speaks. “We've got an Afghanistan War veteran, who's the new Captain America, now with wings. A World War II vet slash super soldier with a metal arm. Another Afghanistan vet with a penchant for violence." She points at herself as she finishes. "And a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and current water bender."—Set Post-Endgame and post-Falcon & Winter Soldier (even though it’s only just been announced)





	1. The Alleyway

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I'll preface this by saying that while I'm not writing this as a straight romance, I do have pairings in mind, and one of them will be revealed in the epilogue I have planned. The other in the sequel I've also got planned. 
> 
> Frank and Sandy, my OC, will slowly reveal their history, and I've even got little snippets that'll all be part of this Series, but they'll all be contained within one Work. And even though I have Frank & Sandy's first adventure together fully planned out, I haven't written that story because, well, honestly Endgame and the announcement of The Falcon & The Winter Soldier series made me feel some type of way. I had way too much inspiration to just sit there and NOT write this story. Point is, if you want tidbits of Sandy's backstory before you start on this, I'd head over to "Proteus". I've actually included a whole timeline of her life and how she fits into some of the more major events in the MCU.
> 
> This story is set about a year or so after The Falcon & The Winter Soldier series. Though we have no idea at this point what exactly will happen in the show, I assume Sam takes the Captain America mantle and Bucky sheds the Winter Soldier one. I'm leaving a lot of stuff ambiguous for that very reason.
> 
> Also, as a last note, there's a few references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D./The Punisher characters and plots (though, as seen in the timeline I created, I altered the dates of some events just a bit vs what it says on the Fandom Wiki), but don't worry too much if you haven't seen them. A simple google search can give you the basics.
> 
> Hope you guys like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I posted this originally in past tense, but have since switched to present tense and gone back and fixed all previous chapters. So if you're rereading this and are a little confused, that's why. Anywho! I hope you enjoy it, and any feedback is appreciated!

“The one in the gray hat. Being really obvious.”

Frank Castle keeps his eyes trained on the woman sitting across from him. She’s sipping her coffee, but her attention is elsewhere. If they both look, the man will surely spook. Call in more backup if he’s not a friendly. Or just plain run if he does need help but is scared they might turn on him. Frank’s reputation is, well...

“Doesn’t seem particularly scared.” The woman now turns her attention fully back to Frank. “More sugar, dear?”

Frank blanches, both to being called “dear” and the suggestion of putting any amount of sugar into his coffee. She limits her visible amusement to only her eyes, though he doesn’t need to see that to know exactly what she’s thinking. He’s barely able to resist an eye roll when she dumps another packet into hers. 

“You’re gonna crash later, you know that?” It’s his turn to keep watch. He spots the man she mentioned. A brief glance as to not raise suspicion. But it’s enough for Frank. “He’s a tail.”

“Likely not the one who contacted us.”

Frank hums in agreement. “How much longer should we sit here?” When she doesn’t answer right away, seemingly too preoccupied with the menu in front of her, he raises his voice the slightest. Not too loud anyone else will hear. Not that it matters, seeing as the diner is fairly loud anyway. “Sandy.”

“I heard you,” she mumbles. She lifts her sapphire eyes to meet his gaze coolly, face barely visible beneath one of those floppy summer hats. “Let’s wait and see what he does. Act as casual as you can manage. Idle conversation. He knows we’re here. Let’s show him we’re not scared. Or are you, Sinatra?”

God, the nicknames. She definitely isn’t bothered by the whole thing. Frank, however, is. They’ll have to move again, scrap the laptop, change numbers, the whole shebang. They’d planned on finding another safehouse soon anyway, but this irks him. Either someone had squealed (which, if so, he’s more apt to kill the snitch than not), or Sandy’s getting rusty. 

“I know you hate this, but let’s not kill him. At least not yet.” At Frank’s raised eyebrows, she clarifies, “Not here. You can decide once we get out of here if you wanna just straight up get rid of him or drag him in for questioning first. Either way, we gotta disappear after we handle him.”

Frank nods, placated for the moment. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Want anything to eat?” Her abrupt change of subject never shocks him anymore. 

He makes a face and leans back in the booth. “Might as well.”

“Good, because I was gonna order something for you anyway. Keep up appearances. Hate to waste food, dear.”

His glare only serves to widen her grin. “You're so fucking annoying.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“Wouldn’t go that far.”

* * *

Sandy feels like maybe she ate too much, but she will never tell Frank that. He’d give her a look like a disappointed parent. She’d reassure him that she’d be fine for whatever happened, as she’d been in worse condition and fought just fine, thank you very much. The usual. So it’s not worth it.

“Route A?” she asks as the waitress takes their plates.

“Mhm.”

“He looks to be alone, but if not, Route B.” It’s not a question that time. Sandy doesn’t often need to explain the plan they’ve made together, but it is helpful when things change, even just a little. They’d been on different pages before in a similar situation and it had not ended well. Best to be prepared.

They leave the diner moments later, arms linked together casually. It was Sandy’s idea to pose as a couple. No real PDA, usually. Sandy can always see the relief in Frank’s eyes. She could go overboard sometimes, and it’s best not to test his patience too much. They don’t speak much as they walk the two blocks to their escape route. The man in the gray hat lingers back at the perfect tailing distance. He’s fairly good, but Sandy and Frank have experience. He’s also alone.  _ Route A it is, then _ .

They both know which alleyway to turn down, but Sandy still gently guides Frank in the right direction. She feels his right arm flex in annoyance. She knows it’s only partially aimed at her. He’s always on edge in narrow spaces. Not that she blames him. 

She doesn’t hear any excess footsteps behind them. At least, not ones close enough to be a bother. Sandy turns her attention back to their escape route in the alleyway ahead of them. She doesn’t need her hat anymore, especially since the sun is getting low and the alley isn’t exactly well lit. So she tosses it into a conveniently open dumpster. Sandy flexes her fingers and unhooks her arm from Frank’s. Best to be physically ready for whatever happens next. 

They’d have time to get out without making a mess. Or, if Frank so decides, bring him in for questioning. Whoever is following them will have to explain why exactly they’d contacted them and who—

Frank, who had dropped half a pace behind her, nearly plows into her when her feet grind to a halt halfway down the dark alley.

Someone is already there.

Shit. They’ve walked right into a trap. They had an exit plan for this, but it’s still highly irritating. Her skin prickles and her muscles tense, ready for a fight. She feels Frank swiftly go for his gun. She begins making her water knives appear around her, but stops once a familiar voice rings out. 

“Didn’t you used to be blonde?”

Her heart leaps into her throat, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She hasn’t heard from him in quite some time. Once she’d arrived back from... well, wherever it was half the universe had gone for 5 years during “The Blip” (a stupid name), she’d looked him up and found he’d been dusted, too. At least their lost time together is mutual. One more thing they'll have to bond over later. Once he explains himself. Her defenses fade away into nothing as he speaks again. 

“Those knives look new too. Seems like you’ve been busy, huh?” Sam Wilson drawls, finally peering out from the shadows. Sandy doesn’t miss the playful look on his face, or the confusion Frank’s emitting. 

“Sam,” comes her almost breathless reply. She’s so elated to see him that she doesn’t have one of her snarky greetings ready. She’ll probably catch hell for that later. 

Suddenly, Frank swirls around with his gun at the ready. A split second later, Sandy registers the footsteps behind them. Then, she hears the soft click of a silenced gun. Sam’s expression doesn’t seem to shift into anything that looks like he’s ready for a fight. In fact, he looks... proud? Smug? Sandy can't quite pinpoint it, but she figures she’s about to find out anyway. She follows Frank’s lead and swivels, pulling out her own gun just in time to see a body drop to the floor. Frank’s gun doesn’t have a silencer, so why—

Someone else is here, too. Shit. Why aren’t they all dead already?

Sandy can hardly believe her eyes. Frank seems to register who it was before she does, however. His eyesight must be better than hers, because she can’t see him until he takes a few steps closer. Maybe this alleyway wasn’t the best escape route after all. 

“The Winter Soldier,” Frank growls. He is very unhappy with their situation, and if it doesn’t turn to absolute shit, Sandy knows exactly how their conversation will go later. And if it does turn to shit, they’ll still have that unpleasant conversation, just with a lot more added blood and possible stitches.

The ex-H.Y.D.R.A. assassin looks as imposing as his reputation. Physically at least. All of the tales of his unwilling escapades as a H.Y.D.R.A. lackey suggests he works in the dark, often alone. His opponents almost never see him, but if they do, it’s already too late. He used to carry out covert assassinations in complete anonymity. Lulling enemies into a false sense of security and teaming up with a known good guy definitely don’t seem like his style. He also isn’t wearing tactical gear. Just a zipped up bomber jacket and jeans...

Sandy’s muscles relax and she holsters her gun. He’s there as Sam’s backup. And she knows Sam. And he’d taken out gray hat, who had apparently been stupid enough to follow them this far.

“That was your only tail. Sorry if you wanted the honors,” he says looking down at the corpse. His eyes glint with a hint of amusement. And something else Sandy can't quite put her finger on. But he definitely looks more  _ human _ than he had in the limited footage she’s seen from back then. Her eyebrows raise slightly. “He wasn’t very good at his job.”

Sandy was going to counter with something along the lines of “or you’re just that good,” but she doesn’t get the chance. 

Frank is still very unhappy. “Why the hell are you here?” He had been backed into a corner and Sandy knows exactly how much of an animal that can turn him into. It’s time to diffuse the situation and get some answers. And maybe a nice little reunion. She  _ missed _ Sam. 

“You’re with Sam,” she states simply, locking gazes with the Soldier. 

The Winter Soldier nods at the same time Sam answers, “Yeah, and he’s a pain in the ass. Reminds me of someone else I know.”

Despite being very outwardly agitated, Sandy notices that Frank’s lips twitch upwards at that. It’s gone the second the Soldier starts moving, though. He slowly lowers his gun, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the Winter Soldier as the assassin carefully makes his way to Sam’s side. He gives Frank a wide berth but keeps his expression relaxed, nonthreatening. 

“It’s my goal in life: make as many people as possible fall in love with me, then annoy the absolute shit out of them,” Sandy proclaims proudly. She carefully watches Frank and the Soldier size each other up, ready to intervene if necessary. Once the Soldier stops moving, she allows herself to turn her full attention to Sam. 

Sam looks the same as he had back then. He had always seemed to be on the edge of a smirk, only now he has an actual beard instead of just the goatee. It’s a good look. He hasn’t seemed to age a day. Then again, he’d always said “black don’t crack,” and she’s very apt to believe that. 

A quick flash of light reflecting off a metal surface catches her attention before she can comment on anything else. Her eyes fixate on what he’s holding in his left hand. How on earth had she missed that? And how could she have already forgotten?

“Well, what do Captain America and The Winter Soldier want with The Punisher and Proteus?” Sandy inquires, a playful lilt to her voice.

“White Wolf, actually.”

Sandy’s eyes land on the Soldier at that. She feels Frank’s attention shift beside her, too. 

“I don’t— I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.” There’s a hesitation to his voice. Regret, even? 

She tilts her head curiously at him. “Okay, White Wolf.”

“You can just call me Bucky.”

“Or asshole,” Sam adds. He side-eyes Sam, but lets Sam continue uninterrupted. “And we’re here because, unfortunately, you’re on someone’s shit list. Someone we’ve been tracking.”

“I think we can handle ourselves, thanks,” Frank huffs. 

“Play nice, Frank,” Sandy mutters. He has not lowered his guard at all, and Sandy can tell he just wants to disappear like they planned. 

“I can clearly see that. But this isn’t a bunch of underground drug lords or smuggling rings,” Sam counters coolly.

The White Wolf — Bucky — speaks next before Frank can argue further. “Which, by the way, nice job on that.” There’s no sarcasm in his voice.

“Thanks,” Sandy beams, then jerks a thumb in Frank’s direction. “His idea.” Frank only grunts.

“Anyway.” Sam clears his throat. “We both need your help, and we’d like to offer you…” He seems to struggle to find a word that won’t offend Frank.

“ _ Help _ ,” Bucky finishes for him. He doesn’t look like he much cares how that word sounds. “A mutually beneficial partnership. Sam says you’re good with tech.”

Sandy clicks her tongue proudly. “That I am. Well, I’m game. Kinda wanna meet the guy that put us on a list that Captain America would think we need protection from. Frank, dear?”

Frank shoots her a dirty look again. She bites back a grin. He takes a long moment to study Sam and Bucky before his shoulders slack. “Fine.”

He isn’t done talking, and Sandy knows that. But she interjects anyway. “But we’re apparently gonna do this his way.”

Frank’s jaw clenches. She just  _ loves _ irritating him.

Sam raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “All right. Follow us. We’ve got a place close by where we can talk securely.”


	2. Backstories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of exposition and talking. A little boring, but it’ll pick back up, I promise.

Sam wasn’t lying when he said their own safehouse wasn’t too far from the alley where they’d essentially cornered Sandy McIntosh and Frank Castle. They ducked through a few other dark alleyways on foot before turning into the run-down area of that particular borough. Bucky had been surprised at first at how little the area had actually changed since the 40s.

_ The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess. _

Bucky has a lot of questions, but he decides to hold them off until they’re actually in the safehouse. Sam has been unhelpful thus far. His physical descriptions of them aren’t far off, though. But Sandy is smaller than Bucky expected. She only makes it up to Castle’s chest. Both look a lot less physically imposing than they truly are under their loose clothing. Dark, short hair helps them blend into a crowd easier. Not that that’s much of an issue in New York, though. Sam had also mentioned that she might talk his ear off. But, to Bucky’s surprise, Sandy hasn't said a word since they left the alley. At least not out loud. He notices that she does nudge Castle a few times. There seems to be some sort of unspoken language between the two. Effective and highly useful, for their line of work. 

Speaking of that... Well, he’ll add that to his list of questions. Sam seems to trust her, but Bucky never goes into any relationship, or mission, blindly. His first priority is always Sam’s safety. 

Behind him, Castle grumbles about how he still doesn’t like this. _ Well, it seems like their nonverbal communication only goes so far. _ Sandy whispers back that she’ll explain exactly why she trusts Sam, and by proxy anyone he’s with, later. Bucky raises an eyebrow. He’d better be included in that discussion. 

Sam, of course, doesn’t hear any of this. He’s too preoccupied with prying the gate open. That, and he doesn’t have the benefit of super-human hearing like Bucky does. 

“Classy,” Sandy muses, loud enough for both Sam and Bucky to hear. 

“Yeah, well,” Sam starts as he motions for everyone else to follow the now open gate, “it’s secure. No cameras. And we’re used to it.” 

Bucky doesn't want to openly admit it to Sam because he’ll hold it over his head, but it isn’t the worst place he’s ever stayed. Two bedrooms, a decent-sized kitchen that could at least accomodate three moderately sized people, and furniture that isn’t broken, ripped, or gross. Though the outside betrays how homey it is on the inside. The building has multiple _ Condemned _ signs on both it and the fence surrounding it, but that’s a lie. The King of Wakanda had covertly purchased it and a few other buildings in New York as safe houses for his friends. Which Bucky and Sam happen to be.

Sandy’s lips tug up at one corner briefly. “We haven’t exactly been living the life of luxury either, so I guess I shouldn’t talk.” 

“But you will,” comes Castle’s hushed reply as they shimmy themselves in.

Bucky manages to keep his face neutral as he closes the gate behind them. They’re an amusing pair, he admits.

It’s a short walk from the ground floor to their apartment on the fourth floor. Mostly because everyone, including Bucky, like to take the stairs two steps at a time. _ Guess life on the run teaches everyone the same things. _

“Well, I don't think we’ll be here much longer, so I wouldn’t get too comfortable. Our next place might be worse than this,” Sam eventually says once they’re inside. Sam and Bucky stand near the kitchen counter. Bucky makes sure to leave a path to the front door open. He’d seen how agitated Frank was when he realized that he was surrounded. They don’t need to make his bad mood worse.

Now that they’re in the safety of the apartment, Frank finally speaks up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam looks at Bucky, questioning. He only shrugs with an _ It's all you, buddy, _ look. Sam sighs and crosses his arms. “Well, we tracked the bulk of the operations to Brazil. Specifically Copacabana in Rio.”

Sandy’s expression turns curious. “Oh, a resort town? Can’t say that’s a bad idea, honestly.”

“Oh good,” Frank says sourly. “I get to get involved in foreign affairs again.”

“Not exactly,” Sam assures. “The dude’s an American.”

“So it’s a he?” Sandy asks.

“Well, we’re not exactly sure about that. ‘Dude’ was more of a gender neutral term. But, given my history with bad guys, it’s probably not a bad guess.”

“Then how do you know they’re an American?”

Bucky feels it’s his turn to explain. “Ex-H.Y.D.R.A. idiot sang like a canary for me.” He pauses when he sees Frank and Sandy’s faces. But before he can continue, Frank speaks up.

“H.Y.D.R.A.? That Nazi group the Avengers supposedly snuffed out? They’re _ still _around?”

“Well, mostly just a few stragglers that have been recruited into other causes.” Bucky furrows his brows. “Maybe we should start at the beginning.”

“You think so?” 

Frank’s aggravation is well deserved. Bucky sighs, glancing at Sam, who just blinks at him. “Well, Sam and I have been tracking down former H.Y.D.R.A. agents that haven’t exactly been quiet. A few weeks ago, we came across this H.Y.D.R.A. bunker that wasn’t as abandoned as we thought. One of the guys there was kinda chatty, particularly when he saw my face. Guess my reputation is good for something.”

Sam snorts, “It’s about the only thing you’re good for, really.”

Bucky ignores Sam’s jab. For now. “Anyway, he just started blabbing, saying that he was sorry but that we were too late. Someone else had already taken down nearly everyone else in the operation. Tried to act smug about it, but he _ was _ scared we were gonna kill him.”

“Not that we did. Turned him over to the police later.”

A scoff from Frank. “That’s too good for Nazi scum.”

Bucky nods. “Agreed, but it’s in the past. Besides, I’m not opposed to properly dealing with him later if we need to.” Bucky doesn’t respond to Sam’s glance at him. Not that Sam would truly have an issue with it, but he’s trying to keep up appearances. “We did some digging through the files they had at the base and found a high priority kill list.”

Sam continues, “Which is where I found your names. Turns out, that weapons smuggling ring you took down recently was part of some larger operation spearheaded by someone codenamed ‘Magnate’. We’ve sent off some of the American locations we found in that system to the local police. They seemed to be the smaller gigs, so we’re sure they can handle them.”

There’s enough of a pause that Bucky figures it’s his turn to talk again. “We’re pretty sure that’s not all of them, though. A lot of the stuff seems to be coming from Copacabana. Even if that’s not where this Magnate is, we figure we can get more answers there than we would anywhere here in the US. At least break up the distribution center if nothing else.”

“Hey, do I interrupt you when you’re laying it down?” Sam accuses.

Bucky’s mouth falls open. “Yes! All the time!”

Sandy’s chuckle is overshadowed by Frank’s apparent need to get back on track. “So why do you need the two of us? You said the operation here in the States was all small time gigs. One of which we already took down, without knowing.” His head turns slightly to Sandy. “Maybe there should have been a little more questioning on our part.” He doesn’t sound too remorseful.

Sandy makes the _ oh well _ face. “I was perfectly fine with just killing them once we knew they were the leaders. But you’re probably right.”

Frank turns his attention back to Bucky and Sam. “Why not just give us all those bases here? We’re capable of taking care of ourselves and taking out these assholes just fine.” Bucky senses he’s not exactly going to be easy to convince. He seems fairly stubborn. And he has a point. The small time stuff sounds like more their speed, at least currently.

Sam nods. “As I said before, we’re very well aware of that. This is more of a personal decision rather than just logic and numbers. Though we would greatly appreciate the added help. Especially with covering our digital tracks.” Bucky raises an eyebrow at that. Not exactly what Wilson told him earlier. 

“Sam Wilson, letting his emotions dictate his decisions? Shocking,” Sandy teases.

“Okay, about that. How the hell do you two know each other?”

Well, at least Frank has the same questions. 

Sandy shifts, and for a split second there’s discomfort and sadness in her features. It’s gone so quickly that Bucky can’t be totally sure he even actually saw it. There _ is _ a slight hesitation before she answers, though. “Sam used to work at the VA in DC. I’d go there sometimes when I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.” Oh. So he had been her counselor. Things are starting to click. “After the whole thing in China.” There’s a weight to her words Bucky is _ very _ familiar with. And just like Bucky, she seems very eager to get off that particular subject. She lifts her chin at Wilson, expression now coy. “And before bird boy here flew off to join the Avengers.”

“You know, if I’d known you have these new powers or whatever, I might have invited you to join.” A brief pause. “On second thought, maybe not. I could barely handle Tony.”

Apparently, Sam’s accidentally pulled open another barely healed wound, and not just for Bucky. Sandy’s face falters. Castle seems to notice this, too, as his torso twists towards her in what looks to be a subtle attempt at comfort. Bucky is trying not to think too hard about all the memories and emotions that come flooding back at the mention of Tony Stark’s name. There’ll be time to deal with that later. Instead, he focuses on Sam’s guests. He’s not sure what Sandy and Tony’s history is, but it certainly doesn’t hold the same regret and pain his. So they had been friends? How come—

“Sorry, Sandy.” Sam’s voice is much gentler now. He’d caught it, too. “I didn’t know.”

She shakes her head. “I like to flaunt a lot of things, but it never felt necessary to really mention that I knew him. We weren’t _ that _ close. We worked on Project Insight together for a while. Kept in touch a little bit after that. I was too busy after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. though. It’d been years since we talked.”

Now Bucky is much more interested. “Were you in DC for that?”

“Only until my role in Insight was finished. I had other projects S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted me on.”

“Do I wanna know what Project Insight is?” Frank sounds exasperated.

“You remember the whole Triskelion incident in DC back in 2014? Turns out I may have unintentionally helped those Nazi bastards make the ultimate killing machines.”

“That was our meet-cute,” Bucky says as an aside, motioning to Sam. Suddenly, every pair of eyes is on him. Worth it, for the embarrassment it will cause Sam.

“Excuse me?” Sam’s whole body is turned towards him now, face red. He’s definitely appalled, and maybe a little bit mad. Too mad, at least, to ask him exactly why he knows that term and who taught it to him (which should be obvious by now). Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek to avoid laughing. “You did not just call that a meet-cute. You tried to kill me! Twice!”

Bucky scrunches his face in thought. “So did you. With guns. I didn’t.”

“That’s not any better, you asshole!” Sam swiftly punches him in the arm. His left arm, which is made of vibranium, the strongest known metal on earth. A major mistake. Because even though Bucky doesn’t actually offer any resistance, Sam still yelps and grabs his hand. “Motherfucker!”

He hadn’t meant for Sam to get physically hurt, but it’s still funny and he can’t keep the humor out of his voice. “Not my fault.”

Sandy is at Sam’s side, taking a look at the injured hand when Castle asks, “What the fuck is going on?” Bucky does feel a little bit bad about the utter confusion they’re causing him. 

“Need some ice?” Bucky offered. He knows Sam will be fine, so he figures it’s time for a little payback.

“I hate you. So much,” Sam seeths. “I’m fine, it’s not that bad. I’m more pissed than anything,” he tells Sandy.

When Sandy looks up at Bucky briefly, he offers a slightly apologetic look. She puckers her lips in amusement and acknowledgement before turning back to Sam, who’s studying his hand. She finally decides that he’s okay and turns back to Frank. “Well, dear, a meet-cute is basically something that happens in those romantic movies where the two love interests bump into each other at random or some shit like that. It can be different for different couples. And apparently for this couple—” here she gestures between Sam and Bucky— “it means trying to kill each other at first sight. A real enemies to friends to lovers thing going on.”

“We are _ not _a couple,” Sam fumes. He almost doesn’t sound convincing enough. 

He clears his throat to get rid of the chuckle that threatens to escape. Castle is still visibly uncomfortable, so Bucky decides to steer the conversation back to the matters at hand. “So you two met in DC.” He motions between Sandy and Sam. “You’ve heard about how Sam and I met—”

“I think I’d like to hear more about that,” Castle interrupts. He locks eyes with Bucky, expression very serious. “Why exactly are you two hooked up now?”

Bucky bites his lip at the use of “hooked up.” He’s sure Frank hadn’t meant the _ other _ use of that term, so he moves on before Sam can object. “You know who I am.” It’s not a question, but both Frank and Sandy nod. And he knows exactly what Frank is asking. “Then you know what I did for those seventy years wasn’t my choice. H.Y.D.R.A. stole my life, my memories, my arm, and any semblance I had of being an actual human being. They used me as a means to their ends, as a weapon. Now, I’m just trying to right the wrongs in the world that I helped make. And the best way right now is with Sam here.”

“H.Y.D.R.A. brainwashed you. How do we know there isn’t some trigger that’ll send you back to whatever’s still left of them?”

Bucky smirks. “They have no control over me now. I made sure of that before I rejoined the world. I’m not their weapon anymore.”

“How?” Sandy asks curiously. 

“We’ve got friends.” His grin grows as he glances at Sam, who looks at least a little less peeved now.

That seems to satisfy the two. “So,” Sandy sighs. “Glad to see you’re one of the good guys again. And since we’re all sharing, apparently…” She looks pointedly at Frank. “Guess we should talk about how we know each other, huh?” 

Bucky guesses her backstory will be mostly for his benefit, and he appreciates it. He’s definitely the most in the dark about her. He had a general semblance of who Castle is before meeting him.

Frank shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t openly object. With a quick nod, Sandy continues. And Sam wasn’t wrong about how verbal she is. “Well, as I said, I used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. First as an analyst, then out in the field. My codename was Proteus. Greek god that symbolized how the water is constantly changing. I was very good at undercover work. But eventually S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, then went underground for a while. Long story short, some shit happened, we discovered there’s lots more ‘enhanced’ people out there that have alien DNA in them. And I’m being absolutely serious about that,” she adds when Bucky contorts his face. Aliens aren’t a foreign concept to him in the least, but this is the first he’s hearing about humans—plural—with alien DNA. He still hasn’t completely caught up on his history. “Turns out I’m one of them.” She holds out a palm and Bucky watches in wonder as a perfect sphere of water forms and holds steady in the air. “I can control water as well as being able to create water using the existing Hydrogen and Oxygen in the air. A water bender.” She looks around expectantly for what he figures is a reference to something. Nobody else reacts, save for Sam’s slightly annoyed expression, so he feels less awkward about not knowing. 

Sandy frowns slightly but moves on. Suddenly, the water orb disappears into thin air. “It’s nice because I don’t have to worry about leaving water everywhere after I use my powers.” Bucky isn’t afraid to admit that he is extremely curious about the science behind her abilities, but he doesn’t want to interrupt her. There’ll be time for that later.

She makes a face and pauses briefly before continuing. “S.H.I.E.L.D. got a new director, and I very much didn’t like him. So I left. Spent 6 months on my own just doing whatever I wanted. It was nice. But then I got framed for murdering the Vice President. Turns out Frank and I were going after the same person for different reasons. We teamed up, caught the bad guy, then I went back to S.H.I.E.L.D. I did eventually realize just how tired I was of the whole international spy world and all the politics that went into it. So I left again and came back to Frank.”

“Lucky me.” Frank’s voice is laced with sarcasm, and Bucky catches Sam smiling. 

“Guess I can’t stay away from that whole ‘acts like a scary bad boy but is actually just a big softie’ schtick. It’s enough to make anyone weak at the knees.”

A strangled chuckle comes from Sam, which doesn’t help Bucky’s feeble attempt to keep his composure. And Castle’s darkened stare at Sam and Sandy certainly don’t help matters, either. And Bucky has been meaning to ask…

“Are you two, like, together?”

Before Frank could answer, Sandy gleefully cuts in. “Yes we are,” she says dramatically, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“No, we’re not.” The hint of amusement in Frank’s voice is all but drowned out by his sheer annoyance. Bucky still catches it, though. Sam does, too, judging by the barely concealed snort.

“Oh, right. You prefer the term lovers.”

“We’re not that either.”

“Oh fine, fine.” She places a hand teasingly on his cheek. “He’s my boy-toy.” 

He swipes Sandy’s hand away. “_ No— _” Frank almost sounds desperate for this charade to end. 

Sam explodes with laughter, and Bucky can’t help but follow his lead. Despite Sandy’s best attempts at convincing them otherwise, the obvious answer to his question is _ no _. Sam had mentioned that Sandy might be annoying and maybe a little hard to get to know, but Bucky already likes her. At the very least, she’s able to match wits with Sam, keep him on his toes. 

“You’re the fucking worst,” Frank groans, taking a step away from Sandy and the enormous grin she’s wearing. 

She winks. “Depends on who you ask.”

“If you ask me, I’m on Castle’s side on this,” Sam manages once his laughter had died down. 

Sandy seems to be thoroughly pleased with herself. “Then my work here is done.”

“I thought that was hunting down criminals,” Bucky muses. There’s an unspoken question in his voice. It’s good that they’re all trying to keep the conversation casual, but it was only half working. Everyone has questions they need answers to if they’re going to move forward. And Bucky is still a little afraid Castle might back out and take McIntosh with him. They could really use some extra hands on this, and the way he and Sam want to handle this… It’s best not to ask their other superpowered friends.

“That’s my second job.” She catches Bucky’s drift. Bucky can tell she’s holding back an eye roll when she met his eyes finally. “Okay, okay. Frank, you wanna explain or should I?”

Frank crosses his arms. When he speaks, he’s still dismissive, but it isn’t as harsh of a tone as it had been earlier. “My past is pretty much public record at this point. Trial of the Century and all. Turns out I can’t ignore who I’ve always been. Who I’m meant to be.”

“The Punisher,” Sam says simply.

Bucky had looked him up, but he hadn't been too thorough. _ Public menace who slaughtered drug lords and all sorts of other seedy operations _ is the basic description he'd gotten. He’s mildly confused as to exactly what trial they’re talking about, but he decides he’ll dig up court records later for specifics. At least Castle is talking.

Frank lets out a short, breathy laugh, but there is no humor. “I didn’t pick that. But yeah. Scares the shit out of people I want to be scared, so I guess it works. Someone’s gotta do something about these pieces of shit walking around.”

“It’s extremely satisfying, I gotta say. But we can only get so far by ourselves,” Sandy casually interjects. Frank doesn’t seem too annoyed. “So we set up secure networks where people with leads we may not have can contact us. Or people looking to get out of certain situations. Ones they can’t quite rely on the police for. Although, we’ve had to move around a few times cause the wrong people got word of it. Spent some time in Jersey until we could properly take care of those bastards. Now we’re back in New York.”

“You’re getting rusty.”

“Maybe I just like a change of scenery. And being on the run with you,” she coos. Frank scrunches his nose and gives her a heavy eye roll. There’s a lot of that going on between these two.

Frank’s eyes drift back to Sam and Bucky as if something had clicked for him. “You two were the ones who contacted us yesterday.” 

Sam nods. “Didn’t figure you’d like to be approached at your safe house. Getting shot in the head’s not really on my list of things to do.”

“Plus we had to get rid of your tail in a way that made it look like you did it,” Bucky adds. 

Sandy makes the _ that makes sense _ face. “So, it’s obvious you boys are actually here to help us. Slash you actually do need our help. Do you feel better about all this, Frank?”

Frank shrugs nonchalantly. “For now.”

Sandy claps her hands. “Alrighty. Well we don’t have clothes or anything and all of our shit is back at our apartment. I can do it, but I’d really rather not be restricted to just the clothes I’m wearing. That guy seemed to be alone. Any idea if there were other lackeys we somehow missed?”

“No, for now. You should be safe to pack up your things and destroy whatever evidence you need tonight,” Bucky informs, then nods to the door. “But make it quick. They’ll notice he’s not checking in soon enough.”

“Thanks, handsome. We’ll be back in a jiffy.” Bucky sees a twinkle in her eyes when he feels his cheeks start to burn. It’s only a little blush, but apparently she’s seen it. Oh, great. 

“Can you please not flirt with every single person you meet?” Bucky hears Frank plead as the door shuts behind them.

“That went a little better than I expected,” Sam sighs in relief once Sandy and Frank are gone.

Bucky remembers their conversation from earlier in the day. “You were worried about Frank Castle more than anything. I see why now. Don’t think he would have agreed if Sandy wasn’t here.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He runs a hand over his face quickly before starting towards the kitchen. "Probably would have just tried to force the other base locations out of us, then run off again."

“He doesn’t seem to play well with others.” Bucky’s brow furrows. “I’m kinda surprised they’re even together on this. She seems more your speed.”

Sam hums and opens the fridge. “Yeah, we got along pretty well back in the day. She can be a bit much, but she’ll do anything for the people she cares about.” Sam shovels the leftover lo mein into his mouth without heating it up. “He’s a little harder to read, but I’m almost getting that same vibe from him. He did have a family, after all, before all of that shit happened to him.” 

“I think I remember reading that.”

Sam looks pointedly at the laptop resting on the couch. “Look up the court case from, um, 2016. I think. Tell me what you find.”

Bucky frowns at Sam as a piece of half-chewed noodle falls from his mouth. “Dude, swallow. And why are you making me do it?” He wants to do it, he just feels like giving Sam some shit first.

Another bit of food falls. “Can’t you see I’m eating?”

Bucky mutters some light-hearted Russian curses and flops onto the couch. He’s spent a lot of his time since coming back from, well, nonexistence, catching up on all the changes that had happened in those 5 years. The others had caught them up with what they had personally experienced, but Bucky wasn’t satisfied. There’s been so much he’d missed already from his time with H.Y.D.R.A., and he still hadn’t fully caught up by the time Thanos’ ugly mug had shown up in Wakanda. This frustrates him to no end. 

By far, he isn’t the only one who’s missing time. Sam often joins him in his research. If they aren’t looking through files together or hunting down bad guys, Sam will cook while Bucky relays any information he finds. It’s a nice system. Even if Sam does make fun of him more often than not on Bucky's good days. 

He finds the trial information easily enough. _ The People of New York v. Frank Castle _. And man, is it a doozy. He lets Sam know the important bits he finds. Once he’s finished reading the trial info and is caught up with his jailbreak and staging of his own death, he moves on to Castle’s resurgence a year later. And then he pauses, stunned.

“Sam.” His voice comes out a little shakier than he wants it to. But he can’t help it. The memories have him frozen, dread and hatred and disgust boiling inside. He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, off the picture and name underneath, until he feels Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Who’s that?”

“He…” Bucky swallows thickly and tries to regain control of himself. It doesn’t matter that the bastard is dead. The memories are still there. New ones, and those always burn the most. “He was part of H.Y.D.R.A.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve seen The Punisher show on Netflix, you might figure out who the guy Bucky’s talking about is later when I drop more hints. (no, it’s not Billy Russo)
> 
> Also, Sam totally gets like all of her references, but half the time he chooses not to acknowledge it because they kinda like being little shits to each other about that stuff.


	3. Brazil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there's more exposition than anything in this chapter. Again. But I gotta do some setup, unfortunately.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Frank really does not like this whole thing one fucking bit. First, he’d been cornered by the new Captain America (which, he barely remembers hearing about in the first place) and the goddamned Winter Soldier—well, White Wolf now. Frank saw some of the files that the Black Widow released online in the aftermath of the DC incident, but he didn’t dig too much. Government secrets give him a headache. What he had seen, though, is enough to give kids nightmares. Barnes had said he doesn’t have any of that H.Y.D.R.A. programming left in him. Frank wants to believe him, but he’s finding it kind of hard. Frank knows what war does to people. And this Bucky Barnes has been through about seventy years’ worth of war. Unwillingly. With science and tech Frank used to believe only possible in science fiction. How in the hell is he supposed to know whether or not Barnes is really okay enough to fight on their side? 

Second, he’s somehow gotten himself into a much larger mess than he’d intended to. Again. And now he has to cooperate with two more people he doesn’t know. That doesn’t always pan out the way it should. 

Sandy seems to read his thoughts. Or just the general unease he puts off as they trudge carefully back to the safehouse ( _ that isn’t ours _ , he notes bitterly) toting their belongings. “Sam used to be my counselor. If it wasn’t for him…” she trails off briefly, her voice careful. “I probably either wouldn’t be alive today, or at the very least, you’d still be on your own through all this.”

Frank raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look at her. He keeps his eyes peeled on his surroundings, wanting to be sure himself that they don’t have any more unwanted company. 

“I trust him, Frank. I know I haven’t seen him in, well, technically 10 years, but… I trust him. Like I trust you.”

Sandy never gets this serious. At least, not since he’d almost died and she’d blamed herself—still does, he thinks. They still haven’t really hashed that out, and he wonders if they ever will. Neither of them are really apt to be open and vulnerable on a regular basis. “I know. I saw that back in the alley.”

“Oh. Didn’t really know I was that easy to read.”

“Only if you know what you’re looking for.” 

“Aw, Frank, you ain’t gotta get all outwardly soft on me now.” Ah, there she is again.

“Yeah, well. Just want you to know I’m still not sold on this whole thing.”

“I know. Barnes, right?” He nods. “He’s with Sam. Willingly. And though Sam seems to love bugging him almost as much as I love fucking with you, Sam knows what he’s doing. He’s an Avenger, yeah, but he’s also been in war. Just like you. Just like Barnes. And I don’t know him personally, but I have a feeling Sam wouldn’t bring him along on this if he didn’t trust Barnes.”

Frank doesn’t say anything. She’s right. She’d talked long ago about her experience in China and how it nearly broke her. She’d never said Sam’s name before, but she had mentioned a support system when she got back that helped her try and heal. He has a friend like that, too. A brother in arms overseas and at home. One he’d unwillingly put in harm’s way multiple times. And unfortunately continues to. Although his friend isn’t always exactly overjoyed to see him and Sandy after their recent escapades, Curtis is always willing to help how he can.

This Sam Wilson had seemed like some absolute stranger before, but maybe Frank has misjudged him. It’s hard not to see the similarities between Sam and Curtis. Sam doesn’t have the outward wounds that Curtis does, but they’ve both dedicated their lives to helping those with trauma try to find some sense of normalcy, despite being damaged themselves. 

Frank finally speaks up after a few moments. “I get it. I do.” A quick sigh, then, “Shit, if Curtis showed up after 10 years of doing God knows what asking for help, I’d do whatever I could to help him. It’s the least I can do after…”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly. Sam’s a good guy. We’ll be alright. Plus, I’m gonna hold this whole ‘he needed my help’ thing over his head for the rest of our lives. So that’s always fun.”

He snorts. “We need a contingency plan, though.”

“Yeah. Maybe the  _ I Need a Hero _ one?”

“That is still the dumbest name.”

She shrugs. “Maybe to you. I love it.”

“You named it, of course you like it.”

“That’s how that works, Frank.”

They spend the rest of the way in comfortable silence. Frank ignores Sandy’s remark about the safehouse being an excellent hiding space and one they may have to borrow in the future, though he doesn’t disagree. He’s just not exactly in the mood for her banter.

Whatever thoughts he has about them leaving the door unlocked disappear when the scent of leftover Chinese food all but slaps Frank in the face as they enter the apartment. 

“Is that from the place like right around the corner?” Sandy caught it too. It is one of their favorite spots, after all.

Sam’s voice comes from the kitchen. “Yeah, best Chinese in all of New York, honestly. I don’t know how hungry you guys are, but there’s still some left if you want it.”

“I am almost _ always _ hungry.” Sandy grabs the outstretched plate Sam offers her. “You guys already eat?”

Sam nods. 

Frank notices someone was missing. “Where’s Barnes?”

Sam chews the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, trying to decide what to tell them. “He needed some fresh air, so he’s doing a perimeter check.”

Frank narrows his eyes but says nothing beyond a grunt of recognition. Wilson didn’t seem to be lying, but Frank thinks there’s something more he’s not telling them. He glances at Sandy, who’s happily stuffing her face. She doesn’t seem worried, so Frank lets it go for the moment. He trusts her, he does. So he needs to follow her lead. The Chinese smells delicious, after all. He settles himself at the dining table in the corner and digs into the container of rice, careful to keep all exits within sight. 

“You know, the years have been really good to you, Sammy.”

Frank raises an eyebrow at Sam’s blush. He knows it isn’t so much her words that make Sam blush, but rather her tone. He’s really going to have to talk to Sandy about that. She flirts with literally every person they meet. Even when they need to go as unnoticed as possible. It’s going to get her in trouble one day.

“You, too. Never imagined you’d dye your hair, but brunette’s a good look, too.” Sam’s tone is a bit more casual, which makes sense. Frank guesses this isn’t a habit of hers that developed only recently. Still, he’s kind of rusty. 

“I change it a lot. One time, I even had pink highlights. Turned a lot of heads.”

“I bet. What are you now, like fifty? Old ladies with pink hair would certainly grab my attention,” Sam laughs, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

Sam yelps as Sandy playfully kicks out the back of his knee, wobbling only a little. Frank raises an eyebrow again, amused. He’ll have to use that one on her one day.

“You’re still an asshole. You know damn well I’m not even in my mid-thirties.”

Sam pauses at that. Frank’s head lifts fully to watch him more carefully. Wilson looks at her curiously. Obviously he knows she isn’t close to  _ fifty _ , but her slightly-younger-than-he-expected age throws him a little bit.

Sandy immediately catches his question. “I would be thirty-five next month, had the whole Thanos thing not happened.”

“So you were snapped, too, huh?”

She nods. “Unfortunately. Frank, too.”

Frank swallows his food. “It’s been fun trying to catch up.”

Frank hadn’t actually enjoyed that one bit. He’d had a hell of a confusing time watching Sandy reappear right in front of him what felt like seconds after she’d been turned to dust. They’d figured out what exactly happened (which is, to say the least, confusing as fuck), then he’d sought out Curtis, who openly wept the second he saw Frank. Eventually Frank did, too. 

And Amy. She’d lived those five years, but Frank didn’t have the heart to actually contact her. It might be better if she thinks he’s actually dead. She’s safer that way. 

Yeah,  _ fun _ seems like the right word to use.

The front door opens at the same time Sam’s mouth does. Frank’s head instinctively jerks towards the noise, body tensed for whatever’s about to happen. However, he relaxes as Barnes’s figure comes into view. He looks… well, not as composed as he had been before they left. Had something happened while he and Sandy were gone?

“Hey, man. Everything all right?” Sam asks. It sounds like there’s something else he means…

Bucky’s eyes lift up and he nods. He takes a breath and answers, growing steadier with each word. “Yeah, perimeter’s clear. We’re good for tonight. Anything left over?”

Frank’s eyes drift to Sam. The Captain visibly relaxes and he nods at the fridge. “Your personal stash is left.”

Barnes nods again and makes his way to the fridge. As he passes between the two of them, Sandy locks eyes with Frank. Her bright eyes dance with the same question:  _ what was that about? _

Frank shoots her a look.  _ Later. _

Satisfied for the moment, Sandy looks back at Sam. “So, uh, Thanos.” She drags the name out a little longer than necessary. “We know the basics of what happened. But that doesn’t satiate my overwhelming curiosity. I assume one or both of you were there and know a hell of a lot more than we do. Wanna tell us the whole story?”

Sam quirks up an eyebrow at her, then looks at Barnes, who shrugs. “I think that’ll be too long a story for tonight.”

Sandy frowns. So does Frank. “You do plan on telling us, right? Or is it some big government secret that you can’t tell us?” she asks. She doesn’t sound happy about the idea of being kept in the dark.

Barnes shrugs again, paused with his fork hovering in midair. “Government secrets aren’t our forte. It’s just a long story.”

“He’s right. This is better left for our long flight tomorrow.”

“Wanna explain that?” Frank interjects.

“Wait, more importantly, what’s the sleeping situation here?” Sandy interrupts. “Are we gonna have to share beds? I saw only 2 bedrooms, and that couch doesn’t look big enough for 2 people laying down. I’d rather not sleep sitting up—”

“It’s—I’m not sharing a bed,” Sam announces firmly, pointing at everyone in the room. 

“Oh, don’t be a party pooper!”

Frank opens his mouth to offer sleeping on the couch—or not at all, since coffee does a pretty good job of keeping him awake. However, Barnes has a different solution.

“Sam and I are taking the couch in shifts. You two can have those bedrooms.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you two,” Frank mutters. Well, there go his plans of keeping watch. 

“And here I was, thinking I’d get to be someone’s big spoon.” Sandy sounds way too disappointed. 

“Please don’t start that.”

She frowns at Frank. “You are no fun at all, my dear.”

Sam is all too familiar with how this will play out without intervention. “Okay, focus. I’m tired as shit, and I’d like to get a little bit of sleep before we gotta fly 10 hours to an actual vacation spot that I can’t properly enjoy because, once again, people are trying to kill me and my friends.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me your friend,” Barnes mutters into his drink, but Sam only shoots him a look before Sandy starts asking more questions.

“And the Accords are just gonna let you do this? With _ us _ of all people?”

Sam refocuses. “They’re a little more lenient nowadays, considering it’s not just politicians on the panel now.”

“I sense there’s a ‘but’ to that.”

“And you’d be right. We’re not exactly telling the Avengers or the Accords about you two. I have a feeling they might not be happy about it.”

Frank barely catches Barnes’ under the breath comments about hypocrites and Barton, whatever that means. 

Sandy gets more and more excited. “Oh, I like the sound of this.” 

Frank squints at him. “And how do you expect to smuggle us into South America?”

Sam’s grinning now. “A quinjet.”

Of course. Sandy had talked a lot about that particular S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. “Being Captain America sure has its perks, huh?”

Sam nods at Frank, then turns back to Sandy’s gleeful outburst of, “Hell yeah! God, it’s been forever since I’ve been in a quinjet.” She looks at Frank with a very serious expression. “I’m sorry, Frank, but Sam’s now my favorite person.”

Frank merely shrugs. “Cool. Maybe now I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

“You’re not out of the woods that easily.”

* * *

They all finished their dinner and spent the night in relative quiet. Sam and Bucky slept on the couch in shifts, like they’d planned, but Sam found it hard to actually sleep. Too many of the schematics they’d poured over in that H.Y.D.R.A. base rolled around in his head. How they’d coordinate with 2 extra people he’d never been on missions with before. Would they have beefed up security after he and Bucky had taken out several cells here in the States? Pre-mission jitters are the  _ worst _ .

He noticed Bucky had trouble sleeping, too. Not likely for the exact same reasons, though. The early morning sunlight was barely trickling through the mostly covered up windows by the time they both decided to give up on sleeping. They’d had a hushed conversation in the kitchen just before Sandy and Frank woke up, and Bucky reassured him he’d be fine. They’ve both been through this before, so Sam trusts him. 

“Since Sandy’s familiar with a quinjet, maybe she can fly for a couple hours and you can get some sleep,” Sam had offered.

Bucky chuckled, “Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

From what Sam remembers from their sessions, Sandy had  _ not _ been a morning person. And apparently, she still isn’t. She’d grumbled throughout their breakfast. Sam caught Bucky drowning any potential laughter with his coffee. Sam hadn’t done much better hiding his amusement, and Frank seemed too used to it to really react, besides scolding her when she got too chatty or off topic. He looks tired, too, but Sam surmises that’s not unusual for him.

Once she’d woken up enough, Sam was able to wrangle them all together and head for the quinjet hidden in stealth mode on the roof. Sandy had been the first one on the jet, rushing past everyone else and exclaiming how much she missed it. Her chatter had drowned out Frank’s comment about how his life “would be much easier with one of these things.” Then she started babbling about the upgrades that had been made and Sam completely tuned her out and focused on getting them in the air. 

He’d gotten so into his navigation and early flight checklist that he almost doesn’t notice Bucky. He does his best to hide his slight jump when Bucky asks, “Want me to take over?”

He turns and takes a long look at Bucky before he answers, studying his face. He’s pulled his hair into a half bun to keep it out of his face (it’s still a little too short for a full bun), so Sam can clearly see the bags under his eyes. He does look better than he had after he’d seen the picture the night before, but not as well as if he’d actually gotten a decent amount of sleep. He’s also obviously taken time to trim the beard that was starting to become unruly. Good. Personal grooming means Bucky’s mental state is in good condition. Sam will likely need him in top shape for this. No telling what’s going to happen when they start taking out these distribution centers.

Sam tears his gaze away before he’s caught staring too long. He hates that Bucky’s eyes are _ so damn blue _ . 

Bucky sees exactly what he’s doing and gives a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. It wasn’t one of  _ those _ memories. And you don’t look that much better, either.”

“You sure you wanna fly? You aren’t exactly the best pilot.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and plops into the weapons system seat behind Sam, sighing, “Your call, Cap.” The nickname still feels a little weird to Sam. But rather than pull on that string of emotions he has trouble processing, he shakes it off. Sam watches for a few moments from the corner of his eye as Bucky squints out the windshield while the last signs of New York roll out of view underneath them. “We did promise them a story last night, though. And you know way more about what happened than I do. I only showed up for the actual fight.”

“Yeah, you were to busy tending to your goats and being a hermit to worry about the outside world.” Bucky blinks slowly at him, unfazed, and Sam frowns. Bucky’s right, and if Sam knows Sandy, the second she’s done inspecting every last inch of the quinjet, she’ll come asking for it anyway. “I should make you tell them anyway.”

“They’ll be more confused than they were before. Ask me about stuff _ I _ don’t wanna talk about. Then they’ll just come to you anyway.” Bucky tilts his head and watches Sam with raised eyebrows. “You know I’m right, and I barely know these two.” 

Sam heaves a defeated sigh. “Fine, fine.”

“Take a nap afterwards, too.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Just looking out for you,  _ friend. _ ”

“I hate you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sam stands and lets Bucky take the reins. Maybe they won’t crash prematurely, or Bucky won’t just take them to Wakanda instead. Not that the latter is such a horrible idea. He could really use some of that African sunshine right about now.

“Sammy boy! Come to give us our mission debriefing?” Sandy’s sing-song voice cuts through Sam’s brief daydream.

“Not exactly. We can go over that once we land. I’m actually here to read you guys a bedtime story.”

Sandy claps her hands. “I love bedtime stories. Is this one titled  _ The Princess and the Falcon _ ?”

Frank snorts from his seat on the opposite side. Sam glances at him briefly before crossing his arms. “No, more like  _ The Avengers and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week _ . Featuring a giant purple alien with a ballsack for a chin.”

“Oh! Even better!”

Sam barely has any interruptions during his story, barring brief clarifications from Bucky. He had to start back with the alien invasion of New York and explain how exactly that wormhole had opened up in the sky in the first place. That, and with the still confusing explanations Thor and Doctor Strange—Frank looks dumbfounded and highly skeptical at that name, and Sam gives him a knowing look—had offered on what exactly the infinity stones were, take more time to explain than the actual struggle against Thanos. Er, struggles. Frank looks entirely out of his depth throughout Sam’s briefing, while Sandy looks fascinated, yet angry.

“And you didn’t think to call me?” she asks once Sam is done. 

“Didn’t know that A) you were still alive, and B) that you even had powers. Though that would have probably helped out a hell of a lot.”

“Well, next time some world ending event like that happens, call me. I’d love to be everyone’s savior.”

“Please  _ don’t _ call me,” Frank orders. Sam really can’t blame him for that attitude.

“I wish I had that option,” Sam mutters. He stands up from his seat and stretches. “If you have any more questions, I’d say ask Barnes, but he’s kind of a dumbass, so it’d be pointless.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky shoots back. 

Sam scrunches his face in annoyance. Not that he’ll ever openly tell Bucky, but he enjoys their repartee, he really does. Just not when it’s in front of other people and Bucky’s being just as rude as he is. “I’m going to take a nap. Thinking about all this space and time travel shit makes my head hurt.”

“Want me to join you?”

Frank is already trying to rein her in before Sam can even think about replying. “Sandy, Jesus Christ. Leave him alone.”

“Fine, fine, I’ve got stuff I need to fiddle with, anyway. Offer still stands if you want it, Sam.” 

And that. That is going to give him even more headaches, he just knows it. 

Sam sleeps longer than he intends to. The bunk bed is softer than he remembered, but maybe that’s just because he was so tired. When he finally wakes up, the sun is a lot lower in the sky than Sam wants, really. He’d worried about letting Bucky get some rest once he was done, but by now they must be too close for Bucky to get any significant amount of sleep before they land. Great.

However, when he finds Bucky slumped over—but strapped in—in one of the passenger seats, snoozing lightly, he feels decidedly less bad about sleeping so long. Bucky does look peaceful, after all. But Sam wonders if he’d strapped himself in because he doesn’t trust Sandy’s piloting skills, or if he expected himself to have a nightmare. Either way, Sam figures it’s best to let him continue sleeping a little longer.

“So, Cap, feel better?” Sandy asks once Sam appears in the cockpit. She looks as bright and cheery as ever.

“I’m better, thanks. How long you been piloting?”

“About an hour after you left.”

“Righty over there seemed like he needed a nap, too,” Frank explains from where he’s cleaning his gun. “I’m not going into this potential shit show with two tired soldiers.” Sam agrees and opens his mouth to verbalize that, but Frank continues, “By the way, do we have a plan for when we land?”

Sam clamps his mouth shut and glances at the navigation screen before answering. They still have about 2 hours before they land. “Yeah. We’ve got a place lined up a little north of Copacabana. We’ll do some recon tonight on the first warehouse and get a plan ready for tomorrow night. I’ve got the schematics and locations, but that’s about all.”

“What’s our cover? And we’re gonna need some clothes because this—” she gestures to her and Frank’s very monotone and casual outfits—“may not cut it down there. I’ve been doing some research. We’ll need to blend in as much as possible.”

“I’ve got that covered mostly.”

“Mostly?” Frank parrots. 

“Yeah, your clothes may not fit right at first, but they’ll do until you can do your own shopping. I have a contact that got us a few different places we can lay low, plus I had him hook us up with some essentials to cover us for now. Fake IDs and the like. As far as actual covers go, just make something up if you get questioned. We’ll all have secure comms.”

“You’ve gotten good at this stuff, Sammy,” Sandy praises. 

“Had to.” Sam shrugs. 

Sandy fills them in on her research and what tech she’s brought along (the communications scrambler and nanotech sunglasses are Sam’s favorites). Eventually Bucky joins them, looking much more rested to Sam’s concealed delight. Then it’s their turn to go over all the relevant data they’d found in the H.Y.D.R.A. base until the edges of Rio de Janeiro form in the distance. Sam wants to land the jet himself, but Sandy assures him she’ll be able to. And she is. Maybe a little more quietly than Sam would have done, though he definitely isn’t going to inflate her ego by telling her that. 

The city bustles beneath them on the rooftop of their safehouse. It’s a modest building in the middle of a shopping district. The building itself houses only a few tourists that can afford the larger price tag on the apartment, so they won’t have to worry about too many nosy neighbors. They are all on separate floor from Sam’s crew, anyway. And his contact, Andre, had assured him that these tourists are usually looking for a bit of discretion. Sam owes him one after this, for sure.

“Uh…” Sandy begins, as they enter the stairwell from the roof. “Hey, since we’re here anyway, when we’re done getting rid of this Magnate, can I just swing by real quick and assassinate Brazil’s piece of shit president?”

This earns a round of chuckles. Sam looks around to see the actual approval of that idea on everyone else’s face, and he  _ really _ hates to be the mature one in this case. “As awesome of an idea as that is, I’m gonna have to say no.”

Sandy huffs. “You’re no fun.”

He’s able to pick the lock to the room fairly easily, but he has to admit that what waits on the other side is not what Sam Wilson expects. 


	4. First Outings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, this time with some actual action! Next chapter will have a full fledged action sequence, and things will start picking up from here. I just still have to get some interactions out of the way.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

Man, Sandy is  _ really _ enjoying this.

First, the weather in Copacabana is absolutely perfect. It definitely beats any of the summer days she spent in California in her youth. She can clearly see why the Magnate chose a tropical destination. That, and with the amount of tourists and constant influx of ships, it’s a really good spot to hide in plain sight. Smart.

Second, the safehouse they’ve been set up with is, without a doubt, the nicest place she’s stayed since she left S.H.I.E.L.D. Light walls, beach-themed upscale furniture, a large kitchen, and three bedrooms. The two bathrooms are very nice as well. Sandy can’t remember the last time she took a bath in a soaker tub, but, luckily, both bathrooms have one. There’ll be no fighting over the tubs, thankfully. Sam’s contact had really delivered, and not just on the niceness of the place. He left them plenty of weapons and some food to last them a couple of days (if they didn’t feel like going out to eat, that was). Not that Sandy and Frank hadn’t packed a good amount of gear and plan to steal some from each of the warehouses Sam marked on their map. Still, it’s great that the guy is looking out for them.

Third, and this is the most important part, she  _ really _ enjoys the view she’s getting.

The first location they’re scouting is disguised as an ice cream shop at the front. But it’s not nearly as popular as half the places they’d seen on the way. That’s partially due to the block it sits on. Mostly offices, some of them travel agencies, some private offices rented out by individuals. A bit farther from the beachfront. Not much foot traffic. A sufficient disguise, Sandy has to admit. However, a well-trained eye can easily tell it’s a front for something.

The building itself isn’t in awful condition, nor is it a benchmark for great architecture. It’s average at best.

No, the view Sandy is most interested in is lounging in the seat across the table from her. And it’s a fuckin’ nice one, for sure.

She has sunglasses on, so it’s not like Bucky would be able to tell she’s staring. The contact left them with two outfits each, and he had fantastic fashion sense. The men each got long sleeved, brightly colored button down shirts, a pair of knee-length board shorts, a shorter pair of more colorful shorts, and white boat shoes that go with either outfit. Sandy got a long sleeve, bare shoulder summer dress and a loose-fitting burgundy tank top with light blue and white striped shorts. 

It’s extremely common for locals and tourists alike to wear the button down shirts completely unbuttoned and without an undershirt. Therefore, it was mostly easy for Sandy to make a great case that when they go out, it’ll be best to just expose their bare chest. The enemy has no idea they’re here, anyway. And this is just scouting, after all.

Sam and Frank had been vehement about  _ not doing that _ , but Bucky’s too naive to trust her, honestly. This is all entirely for her benefit. She’ll convince the other two eventually, but she’s not complaining in the meantime. 

Sandy convinced Bucky to slap some bandaging over the part of his shoulder where metal and flesh meet and keep his glove-covered left hand in his pocket as much as possible. They won’t be moving around too much, and when walking, she’ll keep herself attached to his left side so the shirt won’t fly open. Bucky had agreed, though he still seems a little shy about the whole thing. It’s pretty adorable. And, to make matters even better, he is much more jacked than she’d originally thought. She’s going to make sure he doesn’t wear loose clothes again this entire trip.

She’d maybe thought about this too much on the flight over. Who can blame her, though? Frank occasionally walks around in a little bit too tight tank top. There’s also the rare moments she gets to stitch his wounds up, though usually she’s too busy with keeping him alive to ogle. Other than that, the only men she’s had contact with, she ends up killing. And she barely knows any women nowadays; they tended not to stick themselves into the gross criminal underground she and Frank plow through nearly as much as the men did. Willingly, at least. Plus, that was New York. This is Rio! She’s going to indulge herself as much as she can on this trip.

Sandy feels she deserves a little eye candy every now and then.

“There’s a guard change happening,” Bucky informs, pulling Sandy from her thoughts.

She turns her head ever so slightly, still sipping from her delicious _suco_ _de_ _cajú _as to remain inconspicuous. Reluctantly, she tears her eyes away from Bucky’s very chiseled chest to watch the ice cream shop across the street. She frowns slightly when she sees nothing at first.

“How can you tell?”

His mouth tugs up at the corners slightly. “The guy wiping off the sign is talking into his earpiece. A bit too loud, really.”

She’s unable to hear him that far away despite how loud Bucky seems to think he is, but, then again, she doesn’t have a super soldier serum coursing through her veins.  _ A shame, really. Imagine how much more of a badass I’d be,  _ she thinks while jutting out her lower lip slightly. A short moment later, the aforementioned sign cleaner goes back inside, only to be replaced with another man. The new guard, a bald slightly tanned man shoveling what looks like vanilla chocolate swirl ice cream into his mouth, sits down at one of the two small tables and pretends to play around on his phone. 

“Good ear, handsome.” Sandy sees that same barely-there blush wash across his cheeks like last time, and she smiles. She’s definitely keeping that pet name. “Marking the time,” she mutters, tapping the side of her sunglasses. A timestamp flashes across her lenses, followed by a checkmark. 

Bucky’s head inclines towards her. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How’d you get ahold of all that tech you brought?”

Sandy perks up. “Made it myself.”

Bucky’s eyebrows peek out above his sunglasses.“Oh?” There’s a pause before he answers, and Sandy wonders if he’s as distracted as she is. She’d gone with the tank top and shorts outfit, and she knows exactly how good she looks. 

She’s careful to keep her voice low to avoid any potential prying ears nearby. “Dunno what Sam told you about me, but before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., I double majored in Engineering and Computer Science at Stanford. So I’m pretty smart.”

“Makes sense.”

“Don’t toot your own horn too much.” Sam attempts to be serious.

“But Sammy, it’s true,” Sandy argues. He and Frank are too far away to see the smug look on her face, but she’s pretty sure they know it’s there. 

“Guard change happening here, too,” Frank adds. “They’re saying something, but I don’t speak Portuguese.”

“Maybe one of us should have been there instead of here.” Bucky frowns thoughtfully. The only reason they’d been paired together was so that they could easily and quietly navigate and observe up close without a language barrier. Sandy doesn’t know as many languages as Bucky, but she knows her fair share; Portuguese included, though it’s a little rusty.

“Oh, they’re fine. As long as you don’t think they’ve spotted you?” The two of them are at higher vantage points, scoping out the back and sides of the building. They’re good at what they do; Sandy isn’t too worried. So when they both respond that they’re still good, she turns her attention back to Bucky. “What’s wrong, tough guy? Am I boring you?”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. “No, no. I think I’d prefer you over Sam’s company, anyway. He’d just sit here and insult me the whole time.”

“Yeah, and I’d have every reason to,” Sam interjects a little too quickly. “You look like a douchebag in that outfit. Thank you for that, Sandy.” 

“He’s still doing it and he’s not even here.” Bucky tries to sound exasperated. It _ mostly _ works.

“You started this, Barnes,” Frank warns, though Sandy clearly hears how funny he thinks this is.

“Bucky, don’t listen to them. They have no sense of fashion. You’re the only one who listened to me, therefore you’re the best looking man in this entire city.” Sandy winks at him and is delighted to receive a timid grin and another slight blush in reply.

“Don’t let her lie to you, Barnes,” Sam advises.

“I’m tempted to mute the two of you.”

“Frank, you took the words right out of my mouth,” Sandy chuckles. She nods subtly at the ice cream shop. “Time to check on the inside?”

Bucky nods too, but Frank’s voice cuts in. “Do not flirt with anyone in there. Be inconspicuous, Sandy.”

“Oh, boo. We’re just gonna kill all the idiots in there eventually anyway.” Sandy notices Bucky struggling not to smile. Which makes her smile grow, too.

“That’s still enough time for one of them to get talking, then go look at the surveillance video and clock you. You’re not completely anonymous.”

“Ugh, _ fine _ . I’ll go in, get some ice cream, come back out. Be  _ inconspicuous _ ,” she mocks Frank. Bucky fails in his attempt to not smile. “What flavor, handsome?”

“Chocolate, thanks,” Bucky clears his throat.

Sandy quirks an eyebrow and clamps her mouth shut before she makes a comment about Sam. That will start something and she’ll end up blowing her cover.

She keeps her word and doesn’t make a scene. The three guards take notice of her, but treat her as nothing more than another customer. Her sunglasses scan and record everything so she can go over it later in detail with her team. The three security cameras inside and two outside on opposite buildings won’t be an issue. Her EMP machine will take them out easily. She assumes they’ll lower security when this district effectively shuts down for the night, but she doesn’t want to be unprepared. 

“One guard outside, three inside. Three security cameras inside too. Nothing unusual, really. Employees Only door definitely leads to their stash, because of course it does,” she reports once she’s walked back to Bucky. She slides his bowl across the table and bites into hers (which is surprisingly good) before she continues, “I think only one of us needs to go in through that way.” 

“All right. Two more hours, then we’ll head back. Recon a bit more tonight after we’ve had some rest. Let’s plan on hitting it tomorrow night.” Sam puts on his best Leader voice, and Sandy catches herself smiling proudly, not missing the same expression on Bucky’s face.

“You’re good at this, too, Sam. Maybe you should think about joining me and Frank instead of the Avengers.”

“We can talk about  _ that _ later. But for the record, I do not think I can handle more than a few weeks of you.”

“Sam, you can handle me anytime.”

Bucky nearly chokes on his ice cream. Sandy can’t help but giggle, despite how her ear is actually ringing because Sam and Frank are both yelling at her at the same time. God, she’s really enjoying this whole thing more than she should.

* * *

Instead of all four of them going out again, Sam had opted to leave Redwing and another surveillance drone on vantage rooftops for constant monitoring. Humans could only stay awake for so long watching the same thing, and Frank insisted that everyone get a decent amount of sleep in a tone that made nobody want to argue with him. Not that anyone was going to, though.

Bucky took first watch. He’s used to stake outs, though they’re usually much more uncomfortable than lounging on a plush loveseat watching a computer screen. On the way back, Sandy had voiced her theory about less guards at night, and she’d been right. They may not get lucky on any of the other warehouses, but at least this one is turning out to be rather straightforward.

_ For now, anyway. _

The occasional drunk yell or laugh outside are Bucky’s only distractions. That, and Frank grunting in his sleep on the other couch. He’s not having bad dreams as far as Bucky can tell from his expression. He’s just a noisy sleeper. A stark contrast from when he’s awake. That doesn’t really help Bucky in his assessment, though. Castle has a troubled past, he knows that much from what he’s read. And he is awfully serious, like, all the time. But he does seem to know how to best wrangle Sandy in. They act more like he had with his own siblings a whole lifetime ago, but he can’t be sure he isn’t missing something. They are  _ such _ an odd pair, and both of them are, at times, utterly unreadable, despite very different backgrounds. And Bucky thinks he’s pretty good at reading people, so it’s mildly frustrating.

Bucky frowns at the screen when he notices a guard change. So far, they only seem to be changing every 4 hours during the day. He makes a mental note of the time: 2 AM. It’s been six hours since their last shift change. The tactical side of Bucky’s mind screams that they’re being lazy. The other side of it rejoices in how dumb they apparently are, at how they make his team’s job easier.

His attention turns back to Castle when he makes another odd noise. After a few seconds, though Castle’s eyes open and meet Bucky’s. They simply and casually watch each other for a few seconds before Frank yawns and stretches.

“Liking what you see, Barnes?”

Bucky’s rather startled by Frank’s mischievous tone. It’s completely out of the blue. He opens his mouth to protest, but can’t immediately think of anything to say. So, he turns back to the computer and wallows in his apparent lack of social skills.

Castle laughs and sits up. “Relax, kid. Sandy’s bad habits rub off on me more than I’d like to admit.”

Bucky scrunches his face. “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you.” At least some of his snark is returning.

“You’re probably right.” There’s a pause as Frank switches on the coffee machine. “Age is just a number. Isn’t that what you old timers say to make yourself feel better?”

Bucky really isn’t sure what to make of this sudden attitude he’s getting. He’s noticed Frank eyeing him cautiously every second he gets. Maybe he’s decided Bucky isn’t a threat? Best to just play along with it. Maybe Castle’s getting at something else entirely.

“Yeah, but in my case, it’s true. I’m a newer immortal, as the kids say.” More specifically, what Peter’s called him on a few occasions. That seems to confuse Frank. Having to explain your joke always means that it’s fundamentally failed. Man, this is so much easier with Sam. “Certain people never seem to age, and there’s really old paintings of people who look like these current celebrities or whatever, so the internet’s started calling them  _ immortals _ .”

Frank nods. Bucky doesn’t want to continue being so awkward, so he changes the subject. “They just had a shift change. Their first one since you all went to sleep.”

“Good.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Frank sounds like he wants to say something else. “You got a plan?”

“Yeah. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Bucky smirks. “Not ours, either.”

* * *

Frank’s plan, it turns out, is to hit just before the second shift change of the night, at 2 AM. Sam would have liked to maybe have one more night of surveillance, but he instinctively knows it’d be futile. These men obviously have a set schedule, so there isn’t much more they can learn from just watching them. So, they’d all agreed on a plan of action.

Sam switches his goggles to infrared and watches carefully while Bucky, Frank, and Sandy get in position. Once he hears the whispered confirmations, he gives the go ahead. Going in one at a time is just going to get them in trouble, so they all move at once. Sandy goes in through the ice cream parlor entrance, Castle through the right alleyway, Bucky through the back, and Sam through the roof entrance. 

There’s no sentry on the roof, and Sam silently thanks their carelessness. He’ll take easy wherever he can get it. Even if there had been someone, they likely wouldn’t have seen or heard Sam coming until it was too late. Shuri herself had designed his new set out of vibranium wings and made them almost completely silent in the air, even when using thrusters. It does make noise, however, if he needs a big boost of power to, say, lift Bucky’s abnormally heavy ass off the ground. Either way, he owes Shuri big time. Maybe he’ll ask Bucky for gift ideas.

There was enough commotion already going on inside the facility that nobody seems to notice when Sam slams his shield on the roof door’s lock and floats down the stairwell. It’s a few moments before he encounters his first guard. A quick shield strike to the face takes him down easily. Sam moves swiftly towards the weapons cache. He can see through his goggles that Frank and Bucky will join him soon enough. Sandy’s already set off her EMP (programmed to not affect any of their own gear), so there’s no raising an alarm between the guards themselves or the outside world. They’re literally and figuratively in the dark. It makes picking off the guards as easy as Sam could ask for.

He chooses not to use his guns, taking out the small number of men that stand in his way with a few clean strokes of his knife and some more heavy shield bashes (god, he loves how useful this thing is). Nobody even sees him until it’s already too late as he moves like a shadow in the dark. Unlike Castle and Barnes, the noisy bastards.  _ This was supposed to be more of a stealthy mission, guys. In and out quickly. _

Although, despite being a little less clandestine than he wants, they work very efficiently together. He guesses it’s because they all have at least some familiarity with each other, in one way or another. And they all have experience with this kind of thing. It’s going much easier than Sam honestly thought it would, despite the fact they don’t totally follow his orders to a T. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.

Sam reaches the weapons shipment first. It’s not a very large warehouse, which is why he chose this one first. They can stock up on additional weapons so that they won’t be lacking much later on. Not that Andre hadn’t been generous. It pays to be prepared, though. 

The merchandise is all standard in the criminal world. No serial numbers. Untraceable bullets. High count magazines. Sam rolls his eyes. These guys are all the same. He picks out a few that he can modify easily enough to work with his suit while he waits for the other two. It’s not long before they appear next to him.

“Thought we said quietly?” Sam accuses with a raised brow.

“Sorry. Got carried away,” Frank apologizes, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He also looks scary as hell, Sam decides, taking in the way the shadows hide large portions of his face while the large skull spray painted on his armour seems to almost glow in the low light. He’s also already covered in some blood that very obviously isn’t his own.

And another way they haven’t listened. That skull is a very obvious brand. If they were hitting some random bad guy’s stash, it wouldn’t matter. But this guy knows who they are and wants them dead. They need to be careful. Hell, even Barnes is covering up his metal arm. And Sam knows how physically irritating that can be for him.

Sam let it go immediately when he realizes he has the  _ Captain America shield _ with him and takes the backpack Bucky offers him. He shoves his collection in there, then passes it along to Castle. The former Marine begins pulling out a few for himself and Sandy, who left him in charge of picking out what she likes while she messes with the internal system towards the front of the facility. 

“For you.” Sam tosses a small gun that caught his eye at Bucky, who catches it and promptly shoots him a glare. “Really, man? You know I hate this model.”

“I do know.” Sam grins smugly.

Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses it into the pile they’re going to destroy before making his picks (a few sniper and long range rifles, as usual). Sam resists the urge to scoff playfully at him. 

“Little Nerd, how’s it going up there?” Sam asks instead.

“Going fine, Big Bird. I just finished.” She huffs a laugh at her own wording. To Sam’s surprise, she doesn’t actually say anything as a follow up. He hears a few clicks over the other end followed by a door opening. “And you?”

“Done, too,” Bucky announces, throwing the backpack over his shoulders. “Just gotta destroy the rest.”

Frank sets the timed explosive in the middle of the boxes they’ve set up. “Bomb’s set, so I guess we better head out now.” It won’t blow up the whole building, as much as Sam would have enjoyed that. Just maybe singe the walls and get rid of the guns.

Sam nods and ushers them out. They all go back the way they came in, deciding to split up before converging back at the safehouse. Best that any other security cameras in the district that haven’t been knocked out don’t catch them all together. 

“Power should be restored at the facility in about 15 minutes,” Sandy informs. “Don’t want that delicious ice cream to melt.”

“What about alarms?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, some will go off. We’ll be long gone by then. Plus, I need it to send a message after we’ve already gotten back to the hotel.”

Sam almost stops in his tracks. “ _ A message _ ?” He is not happy about this, to put it lightly.

“Yeah!” Sandy replies gleefully. “Wanna know what I said?”

“Sandy, they’re not supposed to know it was us!” He’s trying to keep his voice from showing that he’s starting to panic just a little.

“And they won’t, Sammy. All I said was this:  _ I feel like your code name shouldn’t be Magnate, but rather Micropenis. Assuming you’re a guy. Signed, The Most Beautiful Woman in the World _ .”

_ Well shit. _ Maybe this  _ isn't _ going to be as easy as he thought. 

“They’ll definitely know that was you!” Frank accuses angrily. Good, at least Sam isn’t the only one pissed about this.

“Sandy, that’s really risky.” Bucky sounds more disappointed than anything.

“Again, you guys are no fun. Nobody puts baby on a kill list... and expects to live long afterwards. I’m just giving him a little warning.”

Is she trying to quote  _ Dirty Dancing _ , or is Sam’s frustration making him hear things? She’s definitely going to give him more headaches than he feels he ever deserves. He doesn’t need another Peter Parker or Scott Lang around. 

_ God help me, I’m going to die in this place. _


	5. Supply Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A chapter chock full of action! It's a little shorter this time, but I figured this was a good stopping point. We'll get the plot moving a bit more next chapter.

Sandy hates the fact that Sam is so very upset at her. She’s used to Frank being that way, but they’ve been running around together for almost two years. She gets why they’re worried, she does, but if anything, it might make things a little easier. If the baddies figure out she’s there, but not the guys, then maybe she can be bait, or they’ll under prepare. It’d leave her team with all the advantages.

Speaking of that… She pauses in scrubbing her legs, letting the soap gently slide off. They need a team name. Like the Avengers, but better. Sandy chews her lip in thought and goes back to her bath. She’ll look into that later.

Over the next two days, everyone listened closely on the street and over the police scanner she and Frank brought for any sign that they might have been found out. They heard nothing about the incident at all. The bomb went off, she’d clearly heard it, but the news just reported on a minor power outage due to a blown transformer. The Magnate must be good at buying people’s silence, they surmise. Not surprising, really. When they finally decided they were still safe, Sandy turned her attention to data mining the files she’d pulled from the warehouse. It wasn’t much, which Sandy knew it wouldn’t be. Start out small and see what strings they can pull on without drawing too much public attention and giving away exactly what they were looking for. That’s always been the plan. Her audible didn’t mess that up as far as she’s concerned.

However, according to Sam, Sandy had ruined any anonymity. But Sam’s going to be wrong every now and then; he’s only human after all.

Bucky seems less concerned by her message. Sandy guesses that’s because he isn’t as tech savvy as her and trusts her to be safe in what she does. It’s one reason she’s starting to like Bucky more and more. Especially when he spends one afternoon asking about the science behind her powers while Sam and Frank are out scouting another Magnate facility. Sandy isn’t exactly a biologist, but she explains it as in-depth as she can (aka what she heard from Jemma and Bobbi, actual biologists). He looks fascinated throughout the conversation, and it warms Sandy’s nerdy little heart to have an actual conversation with another nerd. 

Frank and Sam return eventually to find Sandy demonstrating the force it takes her to perform various moves with her powers and using Bucky as a veritable punching bag for the more harmless maneuvers. Frank rolls his eyes. He’s watched her practice—and been her test subject—first hand too many times. Sam, however, eventually sits down to watch, too. Poking fun at Bucky seems to be one of his favorite things to do nowadays. It’s cute.

She notices that Frank and Sam seem more comfortable around each other as the days go on. Their team is really meshing together well. But Sandy hasn’t come up with any good team names yet. She knows the bad ones that’ll get a negative reaction from the others. She fully plans on telling them, too, before she reveals her finalized name. Whenever she figures it out.

Years later, and it’s still hard to stop being a performer, even if her audience is just three people with questionable senses of humor.

Eventually, they all agree that they need to restock on some supplies before hitting the next warehouse. Sandy feels confident in their disguises, but they still need to stay split up for the time being. They'll cover more ground and get done quicker that way. The guns and ammo stock is fine. Food, toiletries, and clothes, however, are a different story. 

Sandy’s a little disappointed each of the men have basically ruined the shirts Sam’s contact gave them. Bucky hadn’t been involved in that directly, but he didn’t exactly complain too much when Sandy brought it up that morning. But unfortunately, she isn’t in charge of the clothes, so she’ll have to wait to buy replacements and force them to wear it. Torturing them is too much fun, plus she really likes having eye candy around. 

So, she volunteered for the food, since she’s less likely to be noticed in a grocery store. She'd gotten some funny looks from the others, until she explained that any one of the three men would probably elicit too many stares. Plus, she wants some mangoes and doesn’t trust anyone to pick out the exact ones she likes.

They haven’t said anything directly to each other over the comms since separating, and that’s a good sign. The grocery store, which Sandy had spotted during one of their nightly recons, is the farthest away from their safehouse. This doesn't bother her. She knows she'll be the last one back, so she takes her time getting there. The sun is warm and the ocean breeze, although fainter in this part of the city, is cool, crisp, and downright wonderful.

In hindsight, maybe she should have worked a little faster.

It isn't long after entering the grocery store and grabbing herself a drink from the cafe at the front entrance before someone catches her eye. Well, multiple someones. She slightly regrets sending that message a little more now.

Well, at least she’ll get to have a little fun and stretch her muscles again.

“I wondered when company would come,” she says, so low that she can only be heard over the comms. 

“How many?” comes Sam’s voice first.

“Only two right now. If they’re smart, there’s more hiding in the back or around the corners I can’t see. At least not without my tech.” She’d been dumb enough to leave her glasses at the safehouse, opting for the pair of normal ones instead. Well, she won’t be making _ that _ mistake again.

Bucky’s second. “Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll be fine. Maybe I can make it out of this unnoticed.” She’ll figure out how they found her and if the safehouse is compromised later.

As if right on cue, she suddenly comes face to face with a third lackey. _ Guess not _ , she amends. _ Man, I really miss my glasses. _

Even though she hates wasting it, she “accidentally” spills her drink on the man. “_ Oh, my god! I’m so sorry, sir. Must not have been paying attention to where I was going, silly me. I’m sorry about that! _” she apologizes profusely in deliberately broken Portuguese, feigning to be some random, clumsy tourist. 

She can see that the lackey is not fooled. Unhappy about suddenly being soaked, but not fooled. She resists making a face once she gets a good look at him. All three guys look like typical bad guy muscle._ You’d think they’d change up their look every now and then. _She is impressed, though, that they’re actually dressed so casually instead of the all-black look the men at the first warehouse (and the second one they’ve been scouting) had been in.

The first guy she’d spotted, standing behind her now, grabs her left bicep roughly. Sandy’s head turns to look sharply at him and sees surprise flash in his eyes. No doubt at the sheer size and bulk of her arm that’s hidden under her light jacket. She flexes her arm and keeps her gaze calm, enjoying how annoyed he now looks. Most likely, he’d been expecting some petite woman he could most likely easily overpower, even if she had a gun. Which Sandy does, well hidden at her back.

_ Tough luck _, her eyes tease.

The man regains his composure and conjures up his best intimidating face. “You’re coming with us,” he threatens in English. 

Sandy figures the clumsy tourist act is over with. Good. This way’s more fun anyway. “Oh? So the Magnate doesn’t want to kill me anymore? Why the sudden change of heart?”

“He decided he’d like to meet the self-proclaimed Most Beautiful Woman in The World,” the second lackey sneers from over the first man’s shoulder. “He takes great offense to that.”

Ah, so it is a _ he _ . “I mean, he can call himself the most beautiful woman, too. It’s 2024, isn’t it?” Sandy suspects _ that _ might not actually be why he’s mad about the comment, but she’ll look for clues down that avenue, too. The first man’s grip tightens and she narrows her eyes slightly. “Well, would you please let him know that I politely decline. I’d rather just break into his place and kill him, thanks.”

She hears the alarm in Sam’s voice. “She’s surrounded. We need to get her out of there right now, come on.”

“Wait.” Frank’s voice crackles over next, calm and alert. 

“This isn’t a negotiation. You have nowhere to go,” the man holding Sandy’s arm asserts. He certainly is confident.

Sandy scrunches her face at him. “Well, you have no guns, so I really don’t see how you’re gonna get very far trying to stop me,” she said simply, both for her backup’s benefit and so these idiots know that she knows. She may not have her gadgets, but she can tell if someone’s armed or now. That’s a big mistake on their part. Though understandable, not wanting to raise alarm in a heavily tourist-populated area, it’s still stupid.

“She’ll be fine,” Frank assures the other two. “Don’t make too much of a distraction trying to get to her. I think they only know that she’s here, not us.” _ Oh, my dear Frank. You know me so well _.

It’ll take them a few minutes at least to get from their various locations to the store she’s in. She’ll just have to kick some ass by herself in the meantime. No powers, though. The Magnate might know who she is, but she doesn't need everyone else filing reports of a water bender fighting a big group of baddies. Then they’d have S.H.I.E.L.D. and probably the rest of the Avengers breathing down their necks. None of whom would approve of exactly how they’re taking care of things. 

Well, at least she’s wearing pants and not a skirt.

“Oh?” The third lackey laughs. “Despite the fact you took out all our men, you’re an idiot, showing up here alone.”

“We’ll see who the real dumbasses are five minutes from now.”

“It sure as hell won’t be us.” The man’s grip tightens on her arm again as he tries to pull her closer in a threat. “We ain’t leaving without you, girl.” 

Sandy looks at the other two men, a feral grin now plastered on her face. “Oh, I do love that song!” She doesn’t wait for a response before throwing her right fist into Lackey #1's throat, feeling the satisfying crunch of his larynx cracking. The man stumbles backwards into Lackey #2 with his hands to his throat, gasping for air that won’t come. Sandy registers the shouts of surprise from bystanders as she whirls to gut punch Lackey #3, the one closest to her, with her newly freed arm. He goes down to one knee as the air leaves his lungs briefly. It’s not enough to take him out of the fight completely, but it’s sufficient to stun him so she can focus on #2. 

He manages to push #1 off of him, but he doesn't get very far in his attempt to attack Sandy. She aims a quick right kick at her target’s knee, dislocating it. The man yelps in pain as he, too, falls to his knees. Pivoting on her foot that has just landed, she throws a powerful reverse roundhouse kick with her left leg to his face. He collapses on the floor, unconscious. She’d have liked to kill him, but there’s no time for that, nor does she need the police there any faster than they’ll likely already be. It needs to look like she was simply defending herself from a group of handsy men.

She turns back to #3 in time to see him standing up straight. He’s too far away and a little too alert for a high knee strike, so she settles for going low. She ducks a wobbly right hook from him and goes for his crotch. He squeaks in a very undignified manner and crumples.

“Man you guys should really learn to wear cups,” she teases as he writhes on the floor. She admires her work for a few short moments. It took less than twenty seconds to take them out. That might be a new record. “Who’s the idiot now?” When the lackey looks up at her, eyes ablaze, she responds with a heel strike to the side of his face. He goes limp.

“Sandy, there's more!”

Sam’s warning comes at the same time she hears the distinct sound of several men in combat boots coming towards her. She doesn't have the benefit of the security cameras that Sam has apparently hacked into—which she will need to wipe as soon as possible—but when she finally sees them popping up out of aisles and through the front entrances, she knows she'll be okay. Only seven of them. Still no guns, or they would already have them aimed and ready.

“Looks like they were actually smart! Sorta. This’ll be fun.” She takes a split second to pull the hair tie off her wrist and throw her hair up sloppily as the new arrivals take in the scene. She hates having her hair in her face in a full-on fight. Way too dangerous.

“Hey, boys,” she purrs, throwing her chin up at them.

They may act tough and powerful, but Sandy knows it’s finished before it’s even begun. _ Oh, good. I guess I'll have “Suicide Blonde” stuck in my head the rest of the day. _ She pushes the thought aside as they rush her. They’re disorganized, sloppy. Probably because they’re mad. And intimidated, Sandy hopes. They'd also likely not expected to have to do anything other than stand watch. 

Wishful thinking, really. At least her boys will have an easy time getting inside whenever they arrive. If she isn’t done and gone by then.

She blocks a sloppy punch with her left forearm from the first guy before aiming a solid punch at his crotch with her right. She swings the arm she used to block the punch in a wide arc behind her, twisting her body as well. Her fist lands on the side of another man’s face. Not the most clean hit, but it does its job. He staggers backwards a few steps, and she turns her attention back to her first attacker. A quick, hard right elbow to his face sends him down for the moment. 

Her center of gravity is low to the ground, so the second attacker is too surprised to react fast enough when she shoots a palm up to his chin. There’s an audible crack; she’s likely broken some teeth, maybe even cracked his jaw. She grins, grabs his shoulder, and jumps, swinging herself in the air behind him. Her free hand grabs onto his other shoulder to steady and aim herself. She lands with both feet on the backs of his knees, causing them to buckle and hit the floor with a loud _ thud _. Then she slams his head into the floor with one arm. One down for the count.

Sandy catches the baton that’s aimed at her head from a third man. Using the man's momentum, she redirects it to her first attacker, who has started to stand. Two down. 

A flash of light and the unmistakable sound of electricity crackling in the air captures her attention immediately. A fourth lackey has pulled out another baton, this one laced with an electric current. She loves those things, but maybe not when she’s not the one wielding it. She wretches the third man's baton out of his grip with a sharp twist of his wrist and tosses it from one hand into the other quickly before sidearming it into the man with the taser baton. It hits him in the chest. Not hard enough to do any significant damage, but that wasn't her goal. Just to momentarily stun.

An idea suddenly comes to her. It’s been a while since she’s tried that particular move, but the second man will most definitely be close enough that she can pull it off. 

She grabs the third man’s injured wrist and twists it harder. A howl of pain is cut off when she pulls the wrist down and uses the momentum to swing her right leg up and wrap it around his neck, heel digging into his throat. Using the same leg, she pulls herself up into the air and lets go of the man's now broken wrist. Keeping her leg's grip tight around his neck, she leans forward towards the taser baton lackey and grabs him by his surprisingly white hair. It looks really bad on this guy. She adds it to her mental list of _ Faces I’ll Always Remember for One Reason or Another. _

The shock in White Hair’s eyes is more than enough to elicit another wicked grin. She uses her momentum to fling the men in opposite directions. The fourth man is flung into the nearby flimsy dining tables, where he now lay motionless. White hair ends up face down a few feet away. She may have thrown him into the ground a little too roughly, but whatever. It’s cathartic.

Four down.

Unfortunately, Sandy lands on her stomach very unceremoniously. Judging by the way her whole front feels, it maybe wasn't the best move to use. There’s no more landing mats for her. Old habits die hard, despite the fact that she finished field training at S.H.I.E.L.D. several years ago. This is nothing some Tylenol won't fix, though.

She grunts and rolls over when she registers how close these new footsteps are. She locks eyes with the fifth lackey standing over her and winks before pressing both legs together and kicking up. Her boots collide with his chin _ hard _. As he falls back, she jerks her legs back down and uses the rocking motion to get back onto her feet. A sixth man growls darkly from the other side of a table. 

“What’s the matter, darling?”

He does not take kindly to being patronized, but he barely has any time to react as Sandy flings herself over the table, feet first. She slams into his chest and knocks him back into a counter full of plastic desserts. The fifth man that she’s pretty sure now has a broken jaw seems to regain most of his senses and moves towards her. They are a determined bunch, she’ll give them that. She quickly slides back under the table and sweeps her leg, knocking him flat on his ass. A quick, hard knee to the face and he’s out cold. Five down.

Standing back up, she whirls to face the sixth lackey as he recovers, looking even angrier now. She sticks her tongue out playfully, but is quickly taken aback when a new fist collides with her side. Simultaneously, her feet are taken out from under her by the leg that belongs to whoever punched her. Instinctively, she manages to soften her landing by turning it into a half roll with her arms tucked into her sides. When she rolls onto her back, she finally sees the seventh man looming over her._ Got a bit too carried away, McIntosh. _

“Gotta admit, you were more impressive than I thought you’d be,” he muses.

“Everyone says that about me. Thank you,” she breathes playfully, hiding the fact that she’s starting to get a little bit mad. The punch managed to stun her, but she’s nowhere near out of the fight yet.

She kicks out his knee with her left leg while her right lands squarely in his crotch half a moment later. She packs a little bit extra into the crotch shot as revenge for momentarily getting the upper hand on her. The seventh man's knee is now broken and his crotch likely has irreparable damage, much to her satisfaction. He’s effectively out of the fight, but Sandy will make absolutely sure that he’s unconscious before she leaves. Let him suffer a little bit longer, crying on the floor and paying for making the mistake of pissing her off.

Before she does that, though, she has to get rid of the last remaining fully functional idiot, #6. He’s closed the distance between them relatively quickly, using her momentary distraction to weave through the tables. So she’s forced to roll out of the way of a kick aimed at her head. Sandy stands up in a fluid motion to face the man as he straightens back to his full height. 

She can't go for a low shot because they’re too far apart again, and he’ll see that coming. So, fuck the self-imposed no powers rule. The place had emptied anyway. Besides, all she needs is a minor distraction.

As he begins to struggle for air, she blows a patronizing kiss at him. Sandy momentarily fills his lungs with water once she’s been able to find them, and when she feels that he’s distracted enough, she lunges at him. Her knee plows solidly into his chest. She dissolves the water from his lungs as his back smashes into the ground, making sure to knock him out with a firm punch. Six down.

“You know,” she says, turning to Lackey #7, who’s still squirming on the floor clutching his privates, “you really shouldn’t underestimate women. Next time, bring guns. The odds might not be as bad for you.”

Before he can reply, she drives the toe of her boot into his face and he stills, blood splattering out from his broken nose. She frowns when she realizes that she’ll have to wipe that off before she leaves. 

“And my work here is done. Do wish I could have gotten those mangoes, though,” she mumbles as she surveys the scene around her.

“Blondie?” 

She turns as Frank rushes in through the entrance closest to her. He doesn’t look or sound _ too _ worried, though. In fact, he makes his _ thoroughly impressed _ face when he sees all the bodies. 

“Nice job. Come on, let's go,” he says, nodding towards the street.

A thought occurs to her, and she files away another stupid team name.


	6. Hair Styles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot I posted this story on here, so I'm sorry for the delay! Bit shorter chapter with not much going on, again, sorry. But more action and plot stuff is coming up!

Bucky and Sam arrive at the scene a few seconds apart. They hadn’t been far away from each other to begin with, but they’re surprised to find Frank there first. Apparently, even though he’d warned them to not hurry, he moved much faster than them. 

Sam fiddles with his handheld, which means he’s erasing local security footage. Bucky wonders if he’ll be able to figure out how exactly they found Sandy, and if somehow everyone else is compromised. He opens his mouth to ask, but Frank and Sandy emerge before he can say anything. 

Frank looks unworried on the surface, but Bucky can tell he’s going to have some choice words later. Bucky knows that look all too well. Sam’s worn it plenty of times before. Sandy also tries to look unbothered, though she’s trying maybe a little too hard.

“See? Told you I was fine.” She grins. 

Bucky watches her walk briskly past them in the direction of their safehouse. He quickly surveys the havoc she and her attackers had wreaked in the store. She’s efficient, that’s for sure. Maybe a little rough, but it is impressive. Bucky feels a bit better about how she can handle herself. Not that he had much doubt in the first place. 

They definitely need to keep moving, but Bucky can’t find the will to move just yet. “I don’t see how you’ve ever blended into a crowd…”

He hears Sam and Frank’s amused grunts, followed by a gruff, “Give it time.” Apparently they think he means something else. 

“She’s way too chaotic,” Sam agrees as they all follow Sandy.

Well, whatever. It’s best to just let them keep thinking that for now. “And Steve wasn’t?” Bucky sees Sam’s eyebrows quirk up. “Steve’s Chaotic Good at best.”

Sam’s attention is now riveted on Bucky. “Why are you throwing out D&D references, man?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Shuri taught them to me. And how do you know they’re D&D?”

_ Busted. _ Annoyed, Sam purses his lips and looks away from Bucky, who grins and begins following Sandy.

“Okay, boys,” she announces. The ambush hadn’t taken away any of her usual swagger. “A) I think one of us needs to go get my stuff from the safehouse so I can figure out how they found me. B) My alignment is absolutely Chaotic Neutral. And C) Don’t fall in love too fast there, handsome. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“You’re just giving her a bigger ego, kid,” Frank mutters, looking sideways at Bucky.

“I don’t think that’s the right word—”

“ _ Sandy. _ ” Frank sounds so tired, and Bucky can’t help but laugh. 

“Fine, okay. But seriously who’s gonna go back? My tech would make this so much faster, and I could keep them off our trail for sure.”

“I got it. Wilson, where’s the next safehouse?” Frank asks.

It’s a very good thing they already have several places lined up. Whoever Sam’s contact is, Bucky appreciates how prepared they are. 

“I’m gonna miss those bathtubs,” Sandy mumbles ruefully.

Sam ignores her. “I’ll text you the address. It’s not far from here.”

Frank nods curtly. “Meet you there in thirty.” He points at Sam, then jerks his thumb towards Sandy. “Keep her out of more trouble, yeah?”

Sandy turns to pout at them. “You guys are no fun.” It isn’t the first time she’s said it, and Bucky doubts it’ll be the last.

* * *

The new place isn't nearly as nice as the last one, but Bucky isn't complaining. He expected something a lot grosser. The building itself is a little run down and reminds him of his apartment in Romania. But it services their needs well enough. Two bedrooms again (though slightly smaller this time), typically beige walls, a couch and recliner that look at least a few years old, small round dining table in the corner, and an older flatscreen TV on a chestnut stand against the far wall. The kitchen is the oldest looking thing in the apartment, and the most colorful: stained glass backsplash and clean white (but dated) countertops sit atop bright blue cabinets. It looks like it actually belongs in Rio. The other place looked like it had been plucked straight from the streets in New York. Right down to the slightly weird smell. Then again, it’s so faint that Bucky’s the only one who actually smells it. Enhanced senses aren’t all they’re cracked up to be all the time. 

So, not fancy, but they'll be fine here.

Frank met them at their new hideout exactly thirty minutes later. The guy is punctual, that’s for sure. There’d been no sign of intruders, and Frank had been able to grab all of their gear easily enough. They really dodged a bullet. 

Bucky’s assessment of Frank’s expression at the grocery store had been spot on. Both he and Sam let Sandy know exactly how frustrated they are with her and how fucking lucky she was. She tried to ease their anxiety about the whole thing by saying that, at least now, the three of them are still anonymous. Taking out the next warehouses will be easier if they’re expecting only her but get the other three instead. 

It hadn’t calmed them down as much as she probably wanted. 

Everything settled down a little bit more after they’d finally eaten. Sam and Sandy retreated to their laptops to work on the cameras and make sure they weren't caught. Bucky sat on the couch and worked on cleaning his guns. Frank was doing something in the kitchen; cleaning dishes by the sound of it. Bucky didn't bother to look up. He was still feeling the effects of secondhand embarrassment after watching Sandy get reprimanded, despite how she seemed to still be fine. So he kept himself busy for a while. 

When he feels that his guns are clean enough, Bucky stands and shucks the gun bag over his shoulder. When he looks back up, he finds himself abruptly face-to-face with Sandy. 

She and Bucky stare at each other for a moment. Bucky’s confused as to what brought on this sudden... look she has on her face as she studies him. 

“One of us is gonna need a haircut and a dye.”

Bucky blinks, attempting to continue looking unfazed. Not at all what he was expecting her to say. Then again, is he really ever prepared for what comes out of her mouth? “I don’t look good blonde.”

“I look good however, so I’m game.” She smirks. Bucky doesn’t like that. “But now I kinda wanna see you blonde, big guy.”

Apparently, it’s time for Sam to stop eavesdropping and straight up interject himself into the conversation. “He always looks horrible, so I say we get rid of the white Jesus look and make him a full on douchey frat boy.”

There’s now a very mischievous glint in Sandy’s eyes. “Oh yeah! With the frosted tips and everything! Let’s go really 90’s or early 2000’s with this.”

Bucky definitely understands that style and he hates it.  _ “Fuck no _ .” He pointedly ignores Sam and continues frowning at Sandy’s gleeful face. She’s more of a threat anyway. “I’m beginning to see why you two get along.”

“Sandy, Jesus. Just go cut your hair,” comes Castle’s voice from the kitchen, sounding like an exasperated mother trying to wrangle in an unruly child. He sounds like that a lot. Which is fair.

“Fine, fine. Guess I’ll go pixie cut. See if I can’t get some wigs to wear just in case. Oh, and I was thinking maybe I’ll go blue this time.” Her voice trails off as she closes the bathroom door, still muttering something Bucky tunes out.

Bucky puts the bag in the corner and joins Sam, who is scrolling through some articles on the laptop. “What?” Sam asks, not looking up. He seems too distracted for the usual snark he gives Bucky when he looks over his shoulder.

Squinting down at the screen, Bucky asks a question of his own. “What’s a pixie cut?”

Sam stops scrolling and very slowly looks up at him. Bucky tries to look as innocent as possible. He knows what it is—one of the things Shuri taught him was modern hairstyles. She’d said that white people were a trip, and after looking through said styles, Bucky agreed completely. Pixie cuts aren’t bad, though. 

Sam catches the lie and frowns at him. “Go away unless you’re going to help.”

Bucky crosses his arms. “What do you need help with?” He doesn't have anything else to do, really. They’re scheduled to hit the next base later that night. Best to strike before they beefed up security too much. And Bucky isn't ready to take a nap, instead opting to let Frank sprawl out on the couch. 

_ Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, as ma used to say. _

“Just…” Sam's eyes are suddenly distant. He turns back to the laptop and gestures at the screen. “Research. One of those goons said that the Magnate took offense to the fact Sandy called herself The Most Beautiful Woman in the World. It’s stuck with me. Sandy too.”

Bucky must not have been paying attention when those two had discussed that. Not surprising. “So you’re thinking it’s... what?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. Right now I’m just looking for anything that might stick out as odd, you know?”

Bucky nods and began to pace. He wracks his brain, trying to see if there’s anything useful in there. The Magnate is somehow connected to H.Y.D.R.A., but he can't remember if he’s ever seen mention of a Magnate. Then again, he probably isn't the best person to ask for that. He casts a quick glance at Frank, who isn’t quite asleep yet, as the one-eyed dead man’s face rockets to the forefront of his mind. Bucky looks back at the floor and ignores how sick he suddenly feels. 

“Don’t think too hard and short circuit, Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Wilson. He lets his thoughts drift as he goes over the day’s events. Nothing else they’d said or done stood out... He gets so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice Sandy reappear. He almost runs into her when she plants her feet directly in the path of his pacing.

“Jesus,” he mutters, taking a few steps back.

“I mean, you do kinda look like him, Sam’s right. The white Christian version of him, anyway.”

Sam snorts  _ very _ loudly. Bucky doesn't look at him. Best not to encourage that behavior. Instead, he studies her face for a moment. That smirk seems to be almost a permanent part of her expression, and it makes it impossible to tell what she’s thinking. She tilts her head to the left a little, and it’s then that Bucky notices her hair.

“I thought you were supposed to dye it?” he asks. It’s much shorter now, mere centimeters away from touching the top of her shoulders. But still brunette. Almost the same shade as his own, just a touch lighter.

She shrugs. “I don’t have any dye right now. I’ll pick some up later. A cut works for the moment. I think I’m gonna go back to blonde. A little darker than my natural shade, though.”

“No pixie cut?”

She seems impressed he remembered that. “I can do that later if I need to.”

“Frosted tips, too?”

Her eyes light up and she beams at him. “Nah, not this time.” Without missing a beat, she continues in a direction Bucky was not expecting. Again. “Hey, did you kill JFK? That was like alluded to in the H.Y.D.R.A. files but I figured I’d get an answer directly from the source.”

Between his initial shock at the question and his confusion as to how exactly he should answer, Bucky swears he can hear Frank’s eye roll.

“No,” he finally decides on after a short beat.

“Yes,” Sam answers at almost the same time, not looking up from his computer.

“ _ Sam _ ,” Bucky admonishes. 

“What? You did. At least that’s what you told me.”

“Maybe I was lying.”

“You’ve gotten worse at lying if you were ever good at it.”

Bucky throws his hands up in defeat. The charade is over with. “God. Fine. Yeah, I did.”

Sandy is suddenly much closer to him. “So what’s with Lee Harvey Oswald? How come everyone thinks he did it? And how exactly did you frame him?”

_ I am uncomfortable. _ “He was a fucking moron. And I don’t know the other details. Other H.Y.D.R.A. members took care of the setup. I just shot him. Didn't ask too many questions back then.”

Bucky turns his head at the annoyed grunt coming from the couch and finds Castle pulling a pillow over his face. He doesn’t actually say anything, but Sandy seems to understand what he’s thinking. They are constantly surprising him with how well they know each other.

“Oh, come on, Frank. You can’t tell me you’ve never been curious. You’re a sniper yourself.”

“Your lack of subtlety sometimes is astonishing.”

“Look who's talking.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t use all your big words in one sitting, my dear.”

Something in his gut tells Bucky to look at Sam. 

“Hey...?” Bucky asks, watching Sam carefully. His eyes are wide as he frantically reads the screen, clicking something every now and then. 

“Guys…” Sam announces. “I think I know who the Magnate is.”


	7. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Action, Sandy being vague, and more banter.

“Leticia Avellar? Thought those goons said it was a  _ he _ . And she doesn’t look like she goes by any other pronouns. But I’ve been wrong about that before so...” Sandy studies the woman in the picture intently. She is beautiful, that’s for damn sure. Dark, perfectly styled hair. Tall and slender. Big, beautiful eyes. Soft features. Also Brazilian. Is Sam’s intelligence on nationality wrong, or—

“No, not her. I just think she’s married to the guy. This one,” Sam corrects, pointing to the man she’s lovingly hanging off of. 

Blonde hair, bright eyes, nice smile... “God, he looks like such a typical rich white boy…” she muses, unimpressed. “You know the one I’m talking about?” She looks back at Frank and Bucky expectantly, who are now also crowded around the computer.

If these two are behind the Magnate’s operation, then it’s literally disgustingly cute, how in love they actually look. But Sandy keeps that to herself.

“That’s exactly what he is. And can you guys… Sandy?”

Sandy senses Sam’s sudden discomfort and pats him on the shoulder. “Okay, got it.” She yanks out something from her bag on the counter, plugs it into Sam’s laptop, makes a fist, then jerks her arm towards the television screen. The screen lights up and mirrors what’s on the laptop. “There, now we can give Sam his personal space back.”

“Give us the rundown of what you found,” Frank says, crossing his arms and watching the TV screen carefully. His brown eyes are incredibly attentive, and she can almost hear the gears turning in his head.

“All right,” Sam sighs and stands, going full Leader on them again. Not for the first time, Sandy feels a strong sense of pride swell up in her chest. “So, this dude’s name is Jonah Myers. Columbia graduate and basically the heir to a multi-million dollar corporation called Am-Can. His family owns the American side of the business. And, as Sandy pointed out already, he’s a spoiled rich white dude. Smart, but pompous and has never wanted for a thing in his life. He’s even married to Leticia Avellar, Brazilian supermodel who was recently named Miss Universe.”

Sandy points at the screen, unnecessary as the action is. “Her. Which is most likely why the Magnate was so pissed off at me. And, you know, I can absolutely see why.”

Sam continues before Sandy can get too off topic. “He used to be a typical party boy until he met her. Then, suddenly, the reports and tweets about his outings basically started dropping off, mostly in New York. Up until about a year ago, he was regularly being spotted out and about here in Rio. There’s even some footage of him schmoozing it up with Barrett Gage, who’s one of the guys we took out a few months ago.” Sam pulls up the photo in question, where Myers is shaking hands and laughing with a burly-looking redhead. Sandy keeps her comment about how  _ that one looks like a typical bad guy _ to herself. “And a bunch of other people with questionable backgrounds. But he hasn’t been seen out too much lately. Even less so since all of us started messing with his operations. This all seems to fit with the vague shit we were told.”

Sandy needed something clarified, so she had moved to her laptop to do additional research while Sam talked, only half listening now. 

“He has legitimate business connections here and everywhere else we’ve found traces of his operation.” Sam is pointing wildly at the screen. "This guy fits the description of someone in the Magnate's position. This can't be a coincidence."

“Except that it can be,” Frank challenges. “We need evidence. Eyes on him. I’m all for getting rid of shitheads like him, but I’m not going to do it without solid info. That’s the quickest way to get us into an even worse situation. Think I’d like to avoid that if at all possible.”

Grumbling, Sam crosses his arms. “That's kinda hard considering the dude doesn’t seem to go anywhere anymore. He's basically a recluse.”

_ Oh. _ A picture grabs Sandy's attention. “Unless it’s with his wife.”

All eyes are now intently fixed on her. 

“She’s out almost every day, guys. She’s always got a security team with her, but she’s a socialite. She’s like the top model, after all. Kinda goes with the job.”

“I don't think he’ll like us threatening his wife,” Bucky muses, frowning. He obviously doesn’t like where this is going.

Sandy scoffs, totally unconcerned. “I don't give a fuck what he likes or doesn’t like. This prick wants us dead, so we’re gonna kill him first. I don’t care who we have to go through.”

Sam leans over her shoulder. “You know, I don’t think she’s totally innocent in all this. I saw something earlier about someone in her family getting arrested?”

“Right, okay, give me a second.” She and Sam work for a few minutes searching until they finally find what they were looking for. She vaguely registers Bucky and Frank’s shushed conversation, but she’s too busy to catch what it’s about. Besides, she can bug one of them later about it. “Ah-ha,” she practically sings triumphantly. 

Sam nods and begins chewing on his fingernail.  _ So that habit hasn’t been broken. _ “So, her family’s dirty. It’s all been mostly covered up, but it’s there if you know where to look.”

“Bad girl with experience and a great cover meets bored rich boy looking for excitement. Classic evil couple love story.” 

“So…” Frank starts. “How do we get to her?”

Sandy chews on her tongue for a brief moment before she replies, “I don’t know yet. I think we’ll need to do some recon first before we can even start coming up with a plan. In the meantime, we’ve got other work to do.”

* * *

_ Ugh, this place stinks. _

Bucky wrinkles his nose and pulls his collar up in an attempt to cover up the smell. It doesn’t work. This particular hideout is in a less than stellar part of Copa, and he’s finding it hard pressed to see how anyone could work all day with that stench. Then again, it provides perfect cover. Nobody’s going to actively wander into this area. Who wants to go anywhere near an abandoned sewage plant, anyway?

“I’m gonna have to wash my clothes and myself like 6 times after we’re done. This is _ awful _ .” Her nose is pinched between her index finger and thumb, so Sandy’s voice comes out rather nasally.

At least they’re all on the same page.

“I know. But we need to focus,” Sam whispers with his hand over his mouth and nose. He’s not doing much better. “You’re going in first, so you’re gonna have to suck it up, short stuff.”

A groan betrays the wild grin now plastered on Sandy’s face. “Ready whenever you are, Cap.”

With a whispered authorization, Sandy slinks across the empty street. Then Sam, Bucky, and Frank, in that order. The way the building is laid out flush against the side of a rather large hill has made it difficult for them to spread out like they had last time. Instead, they opt to go in all at once behind Sandy. She’ll be able to easily clear out enough people using her powers, and the others will work cleanup. Redwing had already taken out the two sentries on the roof, so they aren’t spotted. 

There are a few more guards now than there had been before Sandy’s mess at the grocery store, but they’d accounted for that. They’d also gone over the plan multiple times. Sam had been insistent that Sandy stick to the plan, to which Frank had said something under his breath about best laid plans. It’s what Bucky had been thinking, too, and he finds himself liking Frank more and more.

“I’ll be faster and more efficient than I was with those idiots. I’ve got my tech and my uniform, so I’m good,” she’d assured them.

And Bucky has to admit, the gear is impressive. Helpful, too. She has a typical S.H.I.E.L.D. all-black suit that’s armed to the teeth; guns, knives, and even what looks like a few of the bombs Bucky used to carry around. Her sunglasses have rearranged to form a visor, and though it doesn’t have the infrared that Sam has, it’s highly useful for the current situation. The rest is pretty standard; she and Castle are equipped very similarly, though Castle seems to like the bigger guns more. Another thing Bucky can add to the list of ways he and Castle are alike. 

The only confusing part about their getup is whatever shiny metal is coating the back and forearms of McIntosh’s outfit. It’s not vibranium, Bucky at least knows that. And it’s also not the same as Stark’s nanotech. The stuff Peter works with doesn’t shine the same way.

“It’s a secret,” she’d replied cryptically when Sam asked what it was for. Which really wasn’t a surprising answer from her.

Bucky and Sam have their usual tac gear on, though Bucky had actually forgotten to scrub out the blood stains on his blue vest from the last warehouse. And stupid Sam did and will continue to give him hell for it. Ugh. 

Sam looks pristine, as usual. He takes good care of all his equipment, and Bucky sometimes catches him staring wistfully at the red star stitched across the chest of his uniform. It tends to draw Bucky in as well. 

But this is no time for reflection. Or that rotten feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The two men at the door are easily taken care of; Sandy and Sam snap their necks at almost the same time, after which they enter the short hallway leading into the main foyer. They stop at the edges of the hallway, Sam and Sandy on one side, Frank and Bucky on the other. Shitty fluorescent bulbs dangle from the ceiling, offering limited light. This isn’t a heavily guarded area, but there are still enough goons that they can’t quietly rush through without being spotted. And taking out the lights is too obvious.

Sandy signs, “Got this,” with a signature smirk and crouches down, waiting.

When Castle’s gun is at the ready, Sandy takes that as her signal and places her hands on the ground. Bucky can faintly make out something glistening on the walls, winding like ivy on old abandoned buildings. A few beats of silence, then Sandy make a pushing motion, hands still splayed out on the floor. Water springs out from the walls in thin, sharp points. The guards are dead before they even have a chance to react, either from being impaled through the neck or being slammed against the wall with such force that even Bucky would probably have had a hard time not dying. The walls shake with the impact, but there’s no trace left of what exactly had done the guards in, just their crumpled bodies, some with blood spilling out. Impressive and handy.

“Man, that’s cool,” Bucky breathes. She’d shown him a little bit of what she could do at the hotel, but seeing it in action is something else entirely. 

“I know.” Sandy is practically preening as she stands back up. “But they definitely heard that, so there’s more on the way.”

“You’re both right. Got five coming from straight ahead, three from the right. Barnes, you’re up,” Sam commands. 

Bucky nods and heads towards the door immediately in front of them. The other three will handle the ones coming from the side; one for each of them. Once the steps and murmurs are close enough, Bucky springs up from his crouching position at the doorway, jamming his left arm into the lead man’s chest. The man flies backwards, acting as a bowling ball and knocking over the other four following him. Bucky can practically hear the sound effect as if this is a Disney movie. He makes quick work of the others with his gun. They’ve already been discovered, so there’s no sense in trying to hide gunfire.

“Well, now it’s gonna be a party,” Frank muses, coming up beside Bucky to admire his work. 

Bucky makes a face. “Parties are fun.”

“Especially if you get to take out some bad guys!” Sandy chirps. “There’s still some guys up ahead in a few rooms. Most of them are at the back.”

“I think there’s a truck…” Sam taps at his wrist band and adds a moment later, “Yeah, there’s one at the back. I’ll have Redwing take out the driver, but we need to move a little faster. Sandy?”

“Got it!”

They follow her lead, winding their way through several more corridors and taking out whoever pops up to stop them. Which isn’t as much as they expected. It’s easy enough that Sandy doesn’t seem to be paying as much attention to what’s directly in front of her now. As they’re about to go through the main entrance to the loading docks, Bucky has to jump in front of Frank, metal arm extended, to block a shot aimed at his head. The man is close enough that Bucky can slam his right fist into the assailant’s head and watch as his lifeless body falls to the floor.

“Thanks,” Frank mutters as they start forward again. He doesn’t seem too concerned about the goon’s proximity, and Bucky guesses it’s because he knows they’re watching each other’s backs. 

Bucky simply grunts in recognition. It’s eerie how easy it is to be in sync with him. Easier than with Sam, almost.

The sounds of boxes being loaded onto a truck are unmistakable. And when he listens hard enough, he can hear that the boxes are full of guns and ammo and… something else. They’ll find out what it is soon enough that Bucky doesn’t dwell on it. He nods at Sam and moves to stand beside him, taking the Captain America shield that’s offered to him. Sam’s wings extend, then fold to create a full body shield of his own. It’ll serve as protection for he and Frank, who is directly behind him. 

“Everyone better be ready, they’re almost here,” Sam warns.

Bucky spares a glance at Sandy behind him, and she’s nodding. Several icicle-shaped blobs of water hover in the air around her, and her gun is loaded and at the ready. Frank’s got his gun ready too, peering out from behind Sam just enough to get clean shots. 

The doors swing open, and the unsuspecting first round of men are quickly taken care of. Clean shots by everyone, but they’re close enough to get some blood spatter on Sam’s wings and Bucky’s uniform. Again.

_ I’ve definitely gotta wash these clothes when we get back. _

The men who aren’t dead at their feet notice the commotion and quickly scramble to get their own guns, dropping the boxes and allowing the contents to spill out everywhere. It doesn’t take long before they’re dead, too. A few bullets manage to ricochet off Bucky’s arm, the shield, and Sam’s wings, but that’s as close as they get to taking damage. 

“All gone,” Sandy says gleefully, standing up straighter and holstering her gun. 

It’s seeing her proud head tilt that has Bucky reeling a bit. He hadn’t quite been able to put a finger on who exactly she reminded him of until that moment: Dum Dum. That crazy bastard was always giddy after successful missions, particularly when they were as easy as this one had been. And suddenly, it’s not Sandy in his line of sight, it’s Dugan, and it’s 1944.

“What’s up, buttercup? You all right?”

Her question catches his attention again and causes the image to fizzle out, revealing Sandy with her hands on her hips and eyebrow cocked. Shame hits him as he realizes he’s been staring, mouth agape. “Yeah, sorry. Just…” He shrugs and walks away, leaving her confused. She might take that the wrong way, which will be just great for him later. But he needs to focus on the mission at hand instead of getting stuck in memories again. Besides, the longer he stays in the past, the worse his headache will be.

He goes over to one of the boxes that had been dropped and finds, as expected, guns and ammo. It’s similar enough to the batch that they scrounged up and destroyed from the first warehouse, so he loads them back up and lugs the crate over to the others. The only sounds in the room are the opening of boxes, a bit of humming from both Sam and Sandy, and the rustling through the crates. Bucky studies some strange looking bombs while loading them back into their box, which is off on the other side of the room. It looks like a more advanced version of the S.H.I.E.L.D. bombs he’s used to. Shaped like a grenade, but there’s no pin to pull. Just four little buttons that are barely discernible from the rest of the black, bumpy coating.

“This is new,” is a mutter only he’s meant to hear. However, the next words he speaks are meant for everyone.

Bucky almost doesn’t notice the blinking red light on one of the bombs still on the floor in time. A warning of, “Get down!” almost doesn’t leave his mouth in time. And he almost doesn’t get the shield he’s still carrying over it in time. He thanks his lucky stars that his arm is vibranium and that his reflexes are fast enough, because the sheer force of the covered blast is enough to send everyone reeling a few steps. He bites back a yelp as the receptors on his fingers register some damage.

“What the fuck happened?” Frank asks in a near roar.

Bucky’s grinding his teeth too hard to answer right away, opting instead to stare at his left hand. The blast ends up doing more damage than he thought was possible for non-vibranium based weaponry—if that’s what this is. It’s not irreparable in any sense, but there are definite singe marks on the tips of his fingers. Even the inside of the shield has the same marks, and the straps are now complexly gone. Sam’s not gonna like that.

“You all right?”

Speak of the devil. 

Sam’s face is a little too close, and it startles Bucky, who looks up sharply. He’s met by very concerned brown eyes, which are quickly redirected to Bucky’s hand. “Holy shit,” comes out a gasp. “That bomb did that? How?”

“I don’t know...” Bucky replies, confusion lacing his words. “I think we have an even bigger issue now.”

Sandy appears suddenly and reaches out for his wrist, studying the burn marks. “You think it’s vibranium? And if so, how’d they get their hands on it?”

There’s now a frown etched on Bucky’s face, and he finds it mirrored on Frank’s as he approaches. “I don’t know…” he repeats. “But this isn’t good.” Bucky all but growls. “Gonna have to make a call soon, looks like.”

“We need to make sure the rest of this shit isn’t gonna go off,” Frank orders. 

Sandy lets go of Bucky’s wrist, and he’s thankful he doesn’t have to pull away himself. “Agreed. The guns are fine.” She spins around to investigate the nearest box. “But we will need to do something about these bombs. I vote chucking them into the ocean, and I’ll try and push them out as far and deep as I can. We’re close enough to do that tonight. But I need to bring one back with us so I can study it. And see what I can do about your hand,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder at Bucky. 

There’s a shared look of apprehension between Frank and Sam, but they say nothing. Everyone’s still on the same page, and what needs to be done is obvious, so nobody’s willing to argue. Instead, they all go back to the tasks at hand: gathering the equipment up to destroy it, data mining the computers, and wiping away all evidence that they’d been there.

“What the fuck happened to my shield? Barnes, dude, you are never touching this again, you heathen.”

_ Here we go again. _

“Relax, Sammy, my love,” Sandy calls soothingly. “I can make you a magnetic device for your wrists in addition to building you some new straps. I’m sure he’ll still look just as sexy, but there’s no need to bash up Bucky’s face.”

Sam scoffs, “Sandy, girl, you have a weird taste in men.”

She pouts at him. “I think you’re sexy, Sam. Still wanna call my taste in men  _ weird _ ?”

“I don’t count. I’m everyone’s type.”


	8. More Questions, Some Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, and everyone gets another little surprise.

After a brief stop at the grocery store to restock and get herself hair dye the next morning, Sandy went to work on Sam’s shield, since it takes her less time than Bucky’s hand—and she’d already disarmed and picked apart the bomb she brought back. Frank had taken watch that night, so while they tinkered away, he’d taken a nap and tried to quell the uneasiness in his gut. It hadn’t worked, and he finds himself now meticulously scrubbing down the kitchen while the food simmers. He’s not familiar with traditional Brazilian food, but the  _ feijoada  _ recipe Sandy presented him with sounds good enough, and it’s simple, so he’s trying his hand. Smells good, at least. Something Sam’s said multiple times already as he’s doing his pushups a few feet away.

He’s been in the game long enough to know that nothing really goes according to plan. Especially not in his own life. Which is why he tries to have backup plans for his backup plans. Sandy helps with that, too, and over the years, she  _ has _ made things easier. But there are still times where the loops life throws at him make him… uneasy.

Despite the fact that the Magnate is obviously a millionaire, and possibly owns a corporation if Sam and Sandy’s hunch turns out to be true, Frank really wasn’t expecting the guy’s fingers to be dipping into the stolen vibranium market. From the limited information he’s been given over the years on the metal, he knows it’s basically indestructible. And fiercely protected by the only place it can be found naturally: Wakanda. So what the fuck was it doing in a bomb in a warehouse in Brazil? And why is it popping up in  _ their _ mission? 

Frank  _ knows _ he shouldn’t be surprised by this turn of events, but for some reason, he is. Maybe it’s because with the added and very experienced hands, he’d let himself fall into the trap of expecting things to be fairly straightforward and quick. Obviously, that was never actually going to be the case. And Frank feels dumb for not realizing that sooner.

The whole thing is starting to smell like last night’s warehouse. 

Which reminds him that he needs to run the washing machine for a third time because their clothes  _ still _ fucking smell. It’s more like spoiled milk now than the dead, rotting fish smell it was before, but still. 

“You want some help?”

The question derails Frank’s train of thought and he just looks at Sam stupidly for a solid five seconds until the train is back on track. Then he shrugs and turns back to scrubbing. “If you want.”

As Wilson is grabbing another generic brand Magic Eraser that actually works better than expected, Frank takes a short moment to study him. He then really notices the exhaustion in Wilson’s features. Probably stayed up worrying about the same stuff, wondering how much more shit they’re going to uncover on this mission. Among other things, most likely. He feels bad for Wilson, truly. Frank doesn’t spend too much time on the Internet—that’s more Sandy’s domain, and he doesn’t much care for other people’s opinions—but it’s hard to miss some of the harsh comments Wilson’s had to endure since his public announcement of taking over the title. The world still misses Steve Rogers; Frank gets that, he does. But Wilson was right there by Rogers’ side for years before The Blip. And Wilson’s a  _ good man _ . Plain as day, anyone can see that. He always has been, way before he joined the Avengers. Those that have voiced their doubts are either just plain stupid or racist. Both, in many cases probably. So, he makes it a point to show that he trusts Sam’s leadership. Non-verbally, usually, because Frank’s strong suit isn’t always words. And it doesn’t mean that if something doesn’t sit right, Frank won’t make it known, but he does trust Wilson enough.

Frank casts a side glance at Sandy, who’s now perched on a stool in front of Barnes, muttering things that occasionally cause Barnes to duck his head slightly. The glance doesn’t last long before he’s back to studying Wilson. 

“Thank you.”

Really, he’s meant to say that for several days. But it’s been hard to get a moment alone with him, what with Barnes’ super hearing and Sandy’s constant need to interject herself in conversations—which he’s used to by now. But the both of them are preoccupied at the moment, so Frank jumps at this chance.

Wilson looks confused at the hushed words, until Frank inclines his head slightly in the direction of their partners. Then understanding dawns on his face, and he nods, keeps his tone equally low as he says simply, “She’s my friend, too.”

“You ever wonder how the fuck she’s managed to do that?” 

The small smile doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. “What, make us like her despite her best efforts?” A quiet snort. “Yeah, every time she opens her mouth.”

They chuckle for a few moments, then Sam turns his attention to a particularly large glob of sauce on the counter. Frank mentally winces. He’s a good cook, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t messy. And he ultimately doesn’t feel too bad, considering the somewhat bemused expression lingering on the Captain’s face. The silence they work in for the next few minutes is only broken a few times by soft chuckles coming from the living room. Mostly it’s Sandy’s voice, but Barnes does seem to be in good spirits, too, though Frank can’t make out their conversation. 

When he first agreed to _help_ _them_—as opposed to _needing help from them_, because he does have a bit of an ego still—he hadn’t thought he’d warm up to the duo as fast as he has. It’s another thing that surprises him when it really shouldn’t; Sandy is a fairly good judge of true character, and both the men are also ex-military. All different branches, which sometimes will cause any manner of rivalries to blossom, but not in this particular line of work. Thankfully, since Frank has never had the patience to deal with petty shit like that. Also thankfully, they’re likable as human beings. Enough so that, in an alternate universe of some sort that didn’t involve the world at war, he’d be just fine inviting them over for football Sundays. 

Trust and respect are hard to come by in his life, and he’s been told he can be a complete asshole on more than one occasion, so Frank thinks that maybe he should try not shutting himself off so much in present company. Besides, he’s not the only one with issues.

“And, uh, for the record, I think it’s good, what you’re doing. Rogers chose right.”

Sam looks earnest and a little wide-eyed for a moment before he nods a muted thanks, then, “Don’t think I’ll ever quite get used to hearing that, but I appreciate it. Just… Trying to fill in some pretty big shoes. Do what I can.”

“I know. ‘S not easy. Gets better with the right company.”

Lips quirk up at the corner before he replies, “Yeah, guess so. Not that we should ever tell either of them that.” 

“God no.”

“And, for the record, you’re not as bad as they say.” Wilson full on smirks while casting him a wry look. “A little more surly than I expected, but you ain’t that bad.”

Frank matches his easy tone. “Give it time.”

There’s a bit more lightness to Frank’s chest as Sam chuckles and tosses the Magic Eraser into the garbage. The kitchen is as clean as it will be, so Sam begins raiding the fridge for something to drink.

Frank discards his own eraser a few seconds later, then proceeds to check on lunch. It tastes better than what he was expecting, and not just because he’s really hungry. “Food’s ready,” he announces before making his own bowl. Since Sam’s already in the kitchen, he follows suit while Sandy and Bucky mumble things that sound like “thanks” and “in a minute.”

One second he’s watching them carefully over the rim of his half-finished bowl from the small dining table as she pokes Barnes’ fingers with some tool, and the next she’s pushed back on her ass by some weird blue transparent wall-like projection. And it isn’t her water shield. Frank’s in front of her in an instant, gun pointed at Barnes. Who, for his part, looks just as confused as any of them. His eyes are wide as he’s twisting his hand and watching as the shield contracts and expands in response to every movement. He’s very expressive when he’s confused.

“Blondie, you okay?” Frank asks over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Barnes.

“Whoa,” is all Sandy says for a moment, and though he can’t see her, the wonder in her voice is hard to miss. “Bucky, is that…?”

Bucky’s eyes shift from Frank to Sandy to Sam, who has suddenly appeared beside him, arm extended but not touching. “I… I don’t know,” he admits. “I think so?”

Seeming to recover enough to recognize what’s going on, Sam lets his hand fall to his side and stands up straighter. “You know her better than I do, but I’m pretty damn sure Shuri would have added some nice ass upgrades to that arm.” When Bucky’s eyes are on him again, Sam goes on, “The real question here is, how did you not know you could do that?”

Bucky’s face shifts into a scowl, and he looks back at his arm. “I think she just failed to mention it. I know it kind of works like a kimoyo bead, but I asked the wrong question and she went off on… other details. I think she just… forgot to tell me. Guess that’s something else I can ask her about today.”

“What the hell is going on? What is that?” Frank growls. He trusts the two of them enough, but if there are features of that arm that could seriously hurt others, he’d much rather be on the defensive. Sandy is kind of important to him, after all. 

Speaking of which, her hand is suddenly on his arm, lowering his gun for him, and he lets her. “Relax, dear. It’s a vibranium shield. Not gonna hurt us. I mean, it did knock me flat on my ass, but I’m not hurt. You know,” she says, turning to Barnes with that twinkle in her eye, “if you wanted me on my back, handsome, all you had to do was ask.” A wink at Barnes, who is beet red  _ again _ , then, “I would very much like to meet whoever made that.”

“Maybe after all this is over,” Sam says. Not that he wants to spend more time than necessary away from New York, but Frank does have to admit that possibly going to Wakanda for a day or two sounds incredibly interesting. 

“I’ll, uh,” Bucky clears his throat, regaining his composure, “I’ll look into that. But for now…” A clenched fist disengages the shield. He looks surprised that even worked and tucks a few strands of loose hair behind his ear. “Let’s finish up on my arm.”

“Sandy, don’t fucking say anything,” Frank warns as he returns to his previously forgotten food. 

“God, you guys are  _ no fun _ .”

* * *

“Avellar is definitely our ticket!”

Sandy slams her hands gleefully on the table, startling Sam. He’s been looking at the email Shuri had sent him after her phone call with Bucky a few hours ago. When Sandy was cleaning off and fiddling with the wiring in his hand (which she apparently didn’t need to, but Bucky had just decided to let her satisfy her curiosity), she’d somehow activated the shield feature, which was off on purpose. Shuri said she needs to do upgrades on it before it’s totally ready (“I didn’t have a specific design in mind at the time, but now I do, so you need to get your ass back here so I can give you the proper shield!”), but she left instructions for Bucky on how to activate it in the meantime. It was a very useful feature, and Sam would have thrown a fit on Bucky’s behalf if she had remotely turned it off again or something. Then she left another command to stop by once everything was said and done. They didn’t tell her much about why they were in Brazil or exactly who they were with, and Shuri didn’t press. But unfortunately, much to everyone’s dismay, per her email, none of their spies or guards have any leads on how that vibranium got there in the first place. 

It’s frustrating that they’ve still got more questions than answers, but apparently Sandy’s at least figured something out.

“I mean, not literally, since…” Her eyes lift up from her laptop screen and settle on Sam expectantly. Though she still looks like she’s halfway lost in thought.

He opens his mouth to take her bait and ask what the hell she’s on about, but Frank snatches the words right out of his mouth.

“What the hell do you have?”

“The beginnings of a plan,” she answers devilishly. Her eyes are now fully focused on the present as her gaze shift between the three men.

“You wanna keep being cryptic, or…?” Sam prods, making a hammock for his chin with his fingers. 

“So… Avellar is going to this fancy gala in two days that’s gonna be chock full of people Frank and I are getting really good at taking out.”

Well now. “Is this you suggesting we kill her, or just try and interrogate her?”

She just gives him a look. “What do you think would be more beneficial in this case, Sammy?”

Yeah, okay, he deserved that. Sort of. “Okay, so, what’s the beginnings of your plan?”

Turns out, Sandy’s been able to get ahold of the guest list for this party, and, true to her word, there are plenty of people on there who were previously associated with H.Y.D.R.A. The only reason they’re not in jail already is because it’s all names of people who have, so far, been able to avoid capture. Sam notices Frank’s finger twitch out of the corner of his eye, but Frank only sighs. Avellar’s their main target in this instance, though Sam makes a mental note to… do something about the others. He doesn’t know exactly what, too invested in the details Sandy’s giving, but he’ll figure that out later. This is a great chance to test their theory about Avellar and Myers, but there are a few snags in the plan, as Sandy eventually points out.

“No offense, but none of you guys could pass as rich and high class enough to get her talking.”

Sam frowns, but the other two don't dispute her. She’s mostly right, after all.

“I can do it.” She sounds much less excited than Sam expects her to be.

“This sounds like your kind of mission, Blondie.” There's a definite question in Frank’s voice. Apparently he’d heard the trepidation, too.

Sandy sighs and avoids eye contact with anyone for a moment, choosing instead to palm the disarmed bomb that was sitting next to her laptop. “Yeah, it used to be. I’m still good at it, I just... The last time I was at a party specifically like this was in Beijing. So they're not my favorite thing anymore.”

Oh.

“We need to set up back up plans this time,” Sam says, trying to get her back into her planning mode. He doesn’t want her spending too long thinking about the past. It’s not good for any of them to do that, really.

“We had a back up plan last time…” she trails off. Half a moment later, she seems to come back to the present and looks back up at each of them, smiling. Though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Well, at least this time we’ll have four people instead of two. People with pretty impressive resumes and a lot of experience.” And suddenly there's a frown. “Which brings its own set of problems.”

“There's a really good chance there’s gonna be some of them that know your face at this thing. Especially the one person we’re trying to get close to. How do you expect to go unnoticed?” Bucky asks while pinching the bridge of his nose. Sam knows she’s good at her job, but he’s kind of curious about this, too.

Sandy’s cheeky smile returns. “I actually have a plan for that.” She digs through one of her bags and pulls out a small, gray box. When she opens it with a triumphant noise, Sam’s jaw drops.

“You have one of those? How?”

“It's S.H.I.E.L.D. tech, Sam." She shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s just so obvious. Which he supposes it is. “I am an engineer, remember? Once we got the schematics for the first one, I helped build and design better versions of these. Not by myself, but it is mostly my baby.” Her expression falters briefly before she composes herself again. “I took a few of them with me when I left the last time. I’ve burned through most of them since then, but I have been able to make two extras for emergencies. And we’ll need both for this.”

“Both?”

“Yeah!” It’s readily apparent that she’s going to continue, but Bucky interrupts.

“What exactly are those?”

“Photostatic Veils. Officially. Most people call them Nano Masks. Little easier to say. They’ll make you look and sound like whoever you want, as long as we have a digital face scan and a voice sample. Used to be we needed DNA, but that was way too much trouble.”

Bucky eyes the box, thoroughly intrigued, and Sam bites back the  _ nerd _ comment because, well, this is pretty cool stuff. “Is this how...?”

Sam catches where his mind is going. “Actually, that asshole just made a prosthetic. Like from the movies. This is much more advanced.”

Sandy and Frank look confused, but they don’t press. Good. Rather avoid that conversation for now. Both he and Bucky are still very sour about that whole situation. And everything after, really.

“Oh. So this can get you into the gala.” Bucky starts to chew on the inside of his lip, lost in thought. “You’re gonna need an invitation. And someone to impersonate.”

“I’ve been combing through the list, and I think I’ve got someone already lined up. They’re flying in from the US for this gig tomorrow. I can’t snag them at the airport because of their security, but there is a small window before they go into the tunnel where we can get them.”

“Why not just get them at their hotel?”

Sam shakes his head. “Knowing these types of people, security will be too tight at whatever ritzy place they're staying at. Too risky.” 

Bucky gives him the  _ that makes sense _ look.

“So it should be hella easy. I’m gonna let you guys handle that while I go find myself a nice dress.” Sandy’s trusting them to come up with a good plan. Which Sam is grateful for. Means she’ll be less likely to interrupt, and he can’t stand that. As smart as she is, and as much as he loves her, she can be a goddamned nuisance.

“You'll need a wig, too,” Frank reminds her.

“Indeed I will. Sam, you’re gonna need a suit. Wanna come with, or do you want me to just pick it up for you? I think I’ve got your measurements down.”

This catches him off guard. He squints at her. “Why do I need one?” He pointedly does not ask why she thinks she knows his size.

“You're going too,” Sandy says, leaving out the  _ duh _ at the end.

“As who?”

“My date.”

“After you just said we’re too low class for this shit?”

Sandy smirks. “I didn’t say that exactly. And anywho, I’m the one who’ll do all the talking. You can just stand there and look pretty or mingle however you want.”

“Why do you need a  _ date _ ?” Sam doesn’t really want to go to this thing, but, given the circumstances and Sandy’s history, he doesn't have much of a choice. Why can’t he just go as a waiter or something?

Her voice is almost a purr. “Sam, do I really look like I need a date to have fun? I want you there on my arm.” She winks at him, turning to grab her bag. “You're my immediate backup. And you can’t really stay near me if you’re just a staff member. That would look a little weird. So, you gotta be my date.” Sandy looks pointedly at Bucky and Frank, who had moved to the computer to study routes and the guest list. Sam follows her gaze and finds that they both look entirely too happy to be planning. Assholes. “I can't very well take them.”

Sam snorts loudly. He can’t really argue with her on that. “Especially not Barnes. I doubt even you could get rid of that hobo vibe he’s got going on.” If they didn't know each other so well, Sam would have actually toppled over backwards at the dark look Bucky shoots him.

“And yet, he still manages to look that handsome.” Sandy clicks her tongue at Bucky, and Sam nearly does fall out of his chair when Bucky suddenly hides his red face like Sam's nephew does after getting too much attention. Bucky’s sheer embarrassment whenever Sandy flirts with him is a never ending source of joy for Sam.

“If Myers is there,” Frank cuts in, “I’d prefer you not to flirt with him. He doesn’t need to pay any extra attention to you.  _ Low profile _ .”

She rolls her eyes dramatically while waving him off. “He’s not gonna be there. He’s not on the guest list. Avellar’s the main target here, and she’s more likely to talk to me, woman-to-woman. Besides, he’s not my type of guy. I prefer tall, dark, handsome, and maybe a little damaged.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

A shrug accompanies her thoughtful expression. “A lot. Where would you like to start?”

Sam doesn’t have time for this, so he eyeballs the guest list that’s pulled up on Sandy’s computer. “Castle’s right about the low profile. As much as I really want to take out a few birds with one stone, maybe we shouldn’t use lethal force on the people we’ll be impersonating.”

Sam thought Bucky was scary the first time they’d met. But the look Frank is shooting him at that moment makes Sam very visibly flinch.

“Yeah,” Sandy drawls, lolling her head to the side, “see, he really doesn’t like when people tell him not to kill bad guys. Even Captain America.” She pauses briefly. “That’s probably the only reason he hasn’t cussed you out.”

Sandy doesn’t sound bothered in the least. However, Frank’s anger seems to shift more towards her. Even with this very good information they’ve just been gifted with.  _ Jeez, is this guy ever not feeling a negative emotion? _

“I can speak for myself, thanks, Blondie.”

“I know, dear. And you know that I just love to hear myself talk.”

“I think Sam’s right.” Bucky looks up at them, eyes bright and alert, but calm, as his gaze lingers on Sam. Sam feels something prick at the back of his brain, but lets it go to focus on the matters at hand. “Maybe we should just tag and release, after everything’s done. We’ve been tracking some of the names on this list for a while, and if we can’t take care of them here…” he trails off, because his intent is clear. Even Frank seems to relax a little once he understands.

Sam claps him on the shoulder in approval, then they turn to Sandy when she speaks.

“You’ve got like seventy years of experience of doing it. Anonymously, which Sinatra seems to be allergic to.” Sandy blinks leisurely at Frank’s intense scowl and continues a moment later. “So I think this should be your mission, Bucko. And if Frank doesn’t play nice, just lemme know.”

“You’re not my mother.”


	9. Ominous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get interesting at the Nazi party. As they always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are links in this chapter, but if they don't work, they're not super important. Just song choices and a picture for visual reference because I feel like I suck at descriptions.

Really, the venue is  [ a fucking sight ](https://prestigiousvenues.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Gala-Dinner-Venue-In-Brazil-Belmond-Copacabana-Palace-Prestigious-Venues.jpg) . The live singer is crooning “ [ Feeling Good ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Y11hwjMNs) ” in a voice that sounds remarkably close to Nina Simone. Sandy’s in awe of that and that only. Everything else is pretty standard for your typical fancy gala. Nice, but standard.

The Belmond Copacabana Palace, situated almost directly on the picturesque beachfront, is the perfect vacation spot, if Sandy had to choose one. The building itself is made of white stone on the outside, but the inside and the beach views from the balcony rooms are the biggest part of the appeal. It’s a short walk from the lobby entrance to the main event hall. The Palm Room, specifically, since the hotel has three main entertainment spaces. And it lives up to its name; several tall tropical plants are spaced evenly along the edge of the room in front of the large white marble columns, smaller fern-like plants in between those. Various high-end finger food and dessert tables are placed along the edges of the room as well. On the left side of the room, two bartenders dressed in crisp, white suits and black bow ties mill about behind a curved golden bartop. The shelves behind the bartenders are chock full of, for lack of a better term, top-shelf liquor. There’s a makeshift stage set up at the far end of the room in front of the beautiful floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto the beach. Three chandeliers in the center of the ceiling and a few wall lights give the room a romantic glow.

If it wasn’t for the various strong perfumes Sandy can smell from several patrons near her, it would smell just like the greenhouse of her dreams. 

So, maybe she’s not impressed with _ just _ the singer. The assorted local plants really are such a nice touch. 

“God, you think with the amount of money these people have that they’d do something more extravagant. Like when and why did they stop throwing masquerade balls?”

Sam casts her a sideways glance. “You really expect these people to throw themed parties?”

“When they get bored and have money to waste, yes. It’s what I’d do,” Sandy says matter-of-factly. “Why waste your money on the same old shit when you could try and one-up Jay Gatsby’s level of weird extravagance?”

“ **You know** ,” Bucky muses over the earpiece, “ **she has a point. The few times H.Y.D.R.A. paraded me out for other big wigs, it looked just like this. Really boring. If I’m gonna be stuck with these memories, I’d prefer they be filled with at least some interesting imagery, you know? But when do I ever get what I want?** ”

“That got dark real fast.”

“ **I’m here all week. Probably longer.** ”

Frank sighs, and she can practically hear him rubbing his eyes tiredly, “ **Sandy. Most of these people are trying to kill us. It’s already dark.** ”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Sam mutters bitterly. He rolls his eyes when Sandy squeezes his elbow that she’s holding. 

They have to stay quieter since they’re now surrounded by patrons. The music’s loud, yes, but not loud enough to drown out conversation at normal volume. Sam unhooks their arms and snakes a nano mask-covered hand around her waist, pulling her closer. Makes talking lowly easier. They have a cover to keep up as well. 

She does the same with her arm and rubs her head gently on his bicep. Her scalp is so fucking  _ itchy _ . “I paid so much money for this wig, and it’s still the worst one I’ve ever had to wear. What the fuck?”

“Elsie, honey, please. Focus.”

The nano mask isn’t nearly as distracting as her wig. At least physically. The one Sam’s wearing is, however, only because it covers up his beautiful face with Josh Carlson’s, an older white man. Not unattractive by any means, but Sam’s is prettier, especially when coupled with how well the nice black suit hugs his muscled form. She misses looking at his face already. Plus, obviously, bad guy. At least he still smells like himself: cocoa butter and whatever light drugstore cologne he wears with just a hint of gunpowder. The gunpowder is the only new thing in ten years, and she likes it. Mostly. 

She feels this pang of regret that he’s been dragged back into this life from self-imposed and wanted retirement. It’s not directly her fault, at least, and she wonders if Bucky has the same thoughts. She sees the way he sometimes looks at Sam when he thinks nobody else will notice. It’s soft and sweet but there’s also quite a bit of guilt. Painfully familiar, those looks are.

_ No time for introspection now. _

“Oh, Josh, my love—” she begins, cutting her eyes up at him.

Sam’s eyes flicker towards a different part of the room and narrow, mouth drawing into a hard line. “She’s over there. By the bar.”

“Perfect,” is said quietly and seriously. They’re on a mission, after all. But she adds, louder and sweeter for the benefit of the other guests, “I think I could use a drink. Go mingle, darling, and I’ll bring you your favorite in a few.”

A gentle smile and nod, a kiss to her temple, and Sam’s meandering off, disappearing into the crowd. Sandy starts towards the bar and spots Letícia almost immediately. She is  _ very _ hard to miss. Black backless long sleeve dress that dips just low enough to stay mostly modest. Long, thick black hair swept to one side and falling over her shoulder in soft loose curls. Bright ruby red lipstick and makeup so well done it puts every single Instagram model to shame. Really, Letícia’s whole self puts them all to shame. 

Pity she’s evil.

Also a pity Sandy has to parade around in this extremely modest, floor length, long sleeved pink dress herself, disguised as a “former” Nazi twenty years her senior. If the option to just not be here at all had been viable, she would have taken it, extra backup or not. But unfortunately, they need information and Elsie and Josh are their best shot. They fly under the radar enough while still occasionally communicating with Letícia and Jonah; phone calls mostly, because they’re more old school. They’re the perfect covers for Sandy and Sam. Even if Elsie does need a little bit of fashion advice. Especially on the hair; Sandy had to buy a long blonde wig with basically no volume, because even though her own hair is now back to blonde, it’s too short and too good looking to pass as Elsie convincingly. And no chance of leaving behind DNA, because that’s something her brain always latches onto during undercover ops with rich and powerful people. She does not miss this aspect of overthinking at all.

At least she’s not the only one suffering in borrowed clothes and identities.

Luckily for them, Elsie and Josh have a personal guard and a driver, so Sandy was able to easily talk Frank and Bucky into stealing their suits and staying closer than they would have otherwise been. Instead of the building across the street, they’re a few floors below her feet, comfortably seated in the Carlson’s car that they’ve borrowed—the owners are tied up and unconscious where they’d ambushed them near the tunnel. She’d also been able to convince Bucky to cut his hair and shave; less risk of it getting in his face and makes him just a little less recognizable. More handsome, too, fact she’s reminded him of multiple times already. Frank’s fine. For once, he’s not cut up and bruised. It’s a short ride in an elevator or up a few measly flights of stairs to get to the party, and Sam’s never going to stray more than a hundred feet from her. Additionally, Sandy’s literally got a few tricks up her sleeves in the form of the malleable metal from her uniform. And there are plenty of pipes she can pull water from if need be. 

With all of the precautions they’ve taken, plus multiple escape plans should things go sideways, Sandy should feel comfortable.

But she doesn’t. And it doesn’t have to do entirely with having to flirt with Letícia, the literally crowned Most Beautiful Woman on Earth. Regular business conversation would be much easier, but  _ no _ , she  _ actually _ has to lay on the charm this time. Letícia would likely get suspicious otherwise. The texts and emails she skimmed through oh Elsie’s phone before arriving were all very flirty with just a sprinkle of work discussions. 

Oh, Elsie and Josh are also swingers, since Sandy’s just  _ that _ lucky. She talks a big game, but she doesn’t actually want to flirt with the enemy. It’s always left a sour taste in her mouth. And she’s bad with women. 

“Elsie!  _ Um beijo! _ ” Letícia greets jovially as she sets down her drink, throwing her arms around Sandy’s shoulders and pressing her lips to each of Sandy’s cheeks. Sandy feels her nerves kick in a bit more at Letícia’s voice. The husky, thick Portuguese accent just adds to her whole appeal. _ And _ she smells like she’s literally a rosebush. 

Sandy hates this so much.

“Letícia, my beauty! How are you doing?” Sandy asks with equal enthusiasm, returning the cheek kisses.

Letícia flashes her pearly whites in a genuine grin. “Absolutely fantastic, as always. How are you? Everything okay getting here?”

There’s a suppressed chuckle over her earpiece. Frank. Figures. He had fun setting up and carrying out the intercept.

“Better now that I’m here, looking at you. A vision, as always.” A batting of eyelashes is the punctuation at the end of her obvious once over. 

To her credit, Letícia manages to look shy, but twirls good-naturedly anyway. “ _ Obrigada _ . You’re looking wonderful yourself. Josh is a very lucky man.”

“Well, he’d be even luckier to be your man.”

_ Oh my god. Really? Not something about how Myers is the luckier man? Jesus, I am really out of practice. _

Letícia raises an eyebrow and nods. “Life’s not always about competition.”

“Says the woman who wins just about every one she’s in. Is there anything you aren’t good at?” Moderate recovery.

“Business and board meetings. They’re so  _ boring _ . I don’t know how you stand it,” she chuckles, taking another delicate sip of her drink. The last sip, actually. When she realizes this, she turns to the bartender and asks in Portuguese for two more cosmopolitans. Not Sandy’s favorite drink, but obviously Elsie’s, since Letícia winks at her. Whatever, she’ll grin and bear it. At least it’s not Natty Lite. 

“I’ve been thinking about proposing more business meetings to be held in places like this.” Sandy looks around and gestures for emphasis. “The party atmosphere does wonders for boredom. I’d venture to say that people would leave the meetings a little happier once they’re full of expensive alcohol.”

“You’re on the right track,” Avellar amires. “That sounds like my kind of meeting.”

“Plus—thank you.” She accepts the drinks made in record time.  _ Not bad _ , she admits at the first sip. “Plus, all the eye candy wouldn’t hurt.”

“Also true. Bet you had a lot of that—” Letícia spots something over Sandy’s shoulder and cuts herself off. She sets her drink on the counter and apologizes, “Oh, excuse me, Elsie dear. I have to go greet someone. I’ll be right back, I promise. I want to hear about your second honeymoon.” With a delightful smile, Letícia turns and walks towards a small group of people chatting somewhere behind Sandy. 

See? Bad with women. Swingers or not, you don’t steer the conversation to a second honeymoon if you’re actively trying to bed someone.

“ **You’re terrible at this.** ”

Frank is ever so helpful. “Look, I can handle men just fine because I’ve had plenty of practice.” She turns back towards the bar, glossing over the many shelves lined with the most expensive looking liquor. Putting Elsie’s phone up to her ear, she sighs. “This woman is  _ very _ attractive and  _ The Being Bisexual Handbook _ does not properly cover flirting with someone of the same gender who is  _ that _ pretty. And it’s been a while. Being the enemy makes this  _ very _ hard. Harder than normal. Why do you think I was always such a mess around Bobbi?”

“ **I just thought that was because you’re a fucking mess all the time.** ”

“Shut the fuck up and let me work.”

“ **Yeah, okay. Keep blowing your cover. Great work there.** ”

“ **Hey** ,” Sam hisses, and Sandy can see him rubbing his mouth across the room to cover up the fact he’s talking to nobody, “ **will you two stop your squabbling?** ”

“ **Fine. Focus, Blondie.** ”

“I’ll stop arguing, but I’m not going to stop complaining. I hate this.” She’s alone enough that nobody else can eavesdrop, but she still needs to pretend to be on the phone a little longer so she’s not caught talking to herself. “Men are easy. All I have to do is bat my eyelashes, lower my voice a smidge, say stuff in a sultry tone, and bam! They’re putty in my hands.” 

Apparently, even though Sam just told them to shut up, he can’t pass off an opportunity to fuck with Bucky. “ **Oh, you mean like Barnes?** ”

There’s a brief snicker—from Sam or Frank, it’s unclear—before Bucky grumbles, “ **What the fuck, Sam?** ”

Sandy feels some of her natural swagger come back. “Oh, believe me, boys. If I was really trying to seduce him, he wouldn’t stand a chance. None of you would.”

“ **You are so full of yourself.** ” Frank again.

“Nah, I just know how to do my job really well.” 

“ **Then how come she didn’t give us any more information and just ran off from you?** ”

“Give me a fucking minute, Frank.”

As if right on cue, Letícia breaks off from her guests and makes her way back to Sandy. She makes a big to-do about saying a brief professional goodbye over the phone as Letícia settles in beside her again. “Everything all right?”

Sandy nods and offers a smile. “Just fine. Ironically, business. Nothing that can’t be handled later,” she assures, stuffing the phone back into her clutch. 

“And how is business?”

Admittedly, Sandy’s the least informed about that aspect of Elsie’s life. She’d been too focused on getting a good reading on her interactions with Letícia and Elsie’s more personal details. That’s what’s important here, since she needs to get Letícia talking about herself more than Elsie. Her plan is for Sam to sweep her away for a dance as soon as they get what they need. Or if she needs a momentary interruption to keep things from getting too off-plan. From the corner of her eye, she sees Sam turn slightly away from the chocolate fountain. Just in case he’s needed.

The basics are that Elsie and Josh are struggling a little with their very  _ legal  _ tech startup, though they’re not lacking in money; they have their hands dipped in some of the  _ illegal _ weapons trade Sandy and her boys are working to take down. The Carlsons aren’t exactly business partners with Avellar and Myers, but they run a small operation in Savannah, GA. One of the locations Sam and Bucky had given to the CIA. More specifically, a valued contact within the agency.

It’s not Madani, but Sandy and Frank feel comfortable if it’s someone Sam and Bucky trust.

“Oh, business as usual. Nothing to worry about.” Sandy shrugs, then gives Letícia her full attention, resting her chin on her fist. “What about you?”

Something in Letícia’s face changes for the briefest of moments, and Sandy fears that she’s been made. However, Letícia quickly continues with a laugh, “Oh, you know. Business as usual.”

Thank the gods that there’s something in Letícia’s voice and expression that betrays everything being totally fine. “What’s really going on, beauty?”

Sam visibly relaxes and returns to his food.

One of her perfectly manicured hands, the one with the opulent wedding ring, curls around the glass and lifts it to her lips, lets it hover there for a moment. “Well, there’s been a setback recently.” She sips her cosmo, letting a little anticipation build for a moment. “Jonah,  _ minha paixão _ , one of his… enemies… has been making a bit of a mess for us. Destroyed all the brand new, state-of-the-art equipment we had ready to ship out to our Russian friend, Markoff. So he’s a little angry and wants an apology present. Good thing we’ve got plenty of those presents for him on standby in Ipanema. Just in case, you know.”

_ That’s fucking ominous. _

“ **Evgeni Markoff? Christ, more good news.** ” Oh, seems Bucky’s not happy. But, actual good news is, those bombs were their only stash. And that’s the confirmation they need. Actual  _ not _ good news: now there’s something else they need to keep an eye on hidden in Ipanema. Maybe more stolen vibranium. Looks like that’s their next target.

Sandy takes the intentional pause to affirm, “Always good to have a backup plan.”

“If you want to stay alive and stay in business, yes.” Letícia blinks slowly at her, lips twitching up into a sly smile but giving away nothing else in her expression as she sets her glass back down. Sandy quickly smothers the thought that she’d be a good spy with the right training. “And we’ll have to start from scratch again, which will take time. Bunch of headaches. But  _ fique tranquilo _ . We’ve got a plan to deal with the enemy as well. They won’t be a problem for long.” 

_ Oh, we’ll see about that. _

This time, Sandy gives her a slow blink and a smirk. “That’s good to hear, Letty.”

Letícia hums and nods. “So, enough talk about business. How was your honeymoon? Is it as perfect in Naples as they say?”

Before Letícia’s even finished the first sentence, Sam appears again in Sandy’s periphery. And no sooner has Sandy opened her mouth to come up with some bullshit about how it’s nothing compared to Monaco, Sam’s there, apologizing about stealing his wife away for a dance. After formally greeting Letícia, of course. Sam’s not rude.

Once they’re on the marble dance floor, swaying to another  [ Nina Simone soft jazz piece ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua2k52n_Bvw) —and, yet again, Sandy’s marveling at how good the singer sounds—Sam takes the opportunity to address the team.

“Looks like we have definitive proof. And our next target.”

“ **Yeah, and McIntosh surprisingly didn’t fuck it up.** ”

Sandy rolls her eyes. “Would you rather be out here, Frank?”

“ **I think you and I both know what I’d rather be doing right now.** ”

Sam’s shoulders heave with a heavy but muted sigh. “We would all rather be doing that right now and just get this over with, but…”

“ **Too many innocents** ,” Bucky finishes.

Both sets of eyes land on various wait staff and the bartender. Sandy’s muscles tense up at the thought of more unnecessary blood on her hands. Her sense of sound begins to dull slightly and she blinks a few times, willing the room to turn back to the present. 

They’d been playing jazz that night, too. Sung in Mandarin, though. And an even larger number of servers. Probably how they’d been able to keep such a close eye on her and—

“Hey, little nerd. I gotcha.”

Sam’s concerned voice in her ear, lips dangerously close, causes her to snap back to reality with a small start. He felt the change in her posture and must have been able to tell where she was going. Bitterly, she thinks it shouldn’t be this easy for her to mentally drift back. She’s spent so much time trying to move on that she should be more in control of her thoughts.

“Thanks, my love.” She pulls back slightly to get a better view of his face. Well, Josh’s face, anyway. Might be easier to stay grounded if she could see his beautiful brown eyes, but she’ll take what she can get right now. “I’m okay.”

His face relaxes slightly at her smile. “We’ll leave soon. Promise. Just gotta bide our time a little bit, wait for Avellar to be distracted enough.”

“ **Don’t wait too much longer. I’ve never liked these monkey suits, and this one clings in all the wrong places,** ” Frank grumbles.

“ **And I’m hungry,** ” Bucky bemoans, a little more theatrically than usual. Frank snickers.

Sandy lets herself smile a little. Her back is facing Letícia and the bar, and Elsie’s shamelessly in love with her husband, so it works in her favor to keep her eyes trained on Sam. “She still watching us?”

The smile on Sam’s face is wide as his eyes flit from Letícia to Sandy. Bucky’s comment is likely the reason for that. “For the most part. Robinson’s chatting her up now. Must not be an interesting conversation.”

Sandy has no shame in using Elsie’s personality to her own advantage this time. “Well, you and I are about to get hella interesting.”

Sam lets out an amused puff of air through his nose. “We already are more—Wait, why? Please don’t kiss me.”

Oh, he knows her too well. However, it doesn’t help him, as Sandy’s lips quickly find his. She keeps it chaste and soft, though a little longer than necessary. But it would be so much better if that thin veil of the nano mask wasn’t making things so awkward, giving her the taste of laminate instead of  _ Sam _ . This isn’t how she imagined their first kiss going, if they ever were going to have one, but whatever. He’s still good. And shy. It’s cute.

But it works. Sandy’s no longer thinking dangerous thoughts.

“How was that, my love?” she asks breathily as she pulls away. 

He’s frowning, and it only gets worse when he notices her smug look. 

“You’re blushing. It’s cute.”

“Because I’m embarrassed for you. That was terrible. I think you need more practice.”

“Is that an offer,  _ Josh _ ? We can practice more, if you’d like. Later, without the disguises,” she adds, much quieter.

“I’m gonna kill you when this is all over with. I hope you know that.” 

Laughter erupts over the comms, making Sandy’s grin even more smug. “You’re so romantic.”

“And you’re so fuckin’ irritating.”

“You love it, and you’ve missed it.”

“Like being kicked in the balls, sure. We’ll go with that.”

“Kinky. I’m into it.”

Sam’s jaw clenches tight, both in an attempt to keep from laughing—which she can clearly see that he wants to do—and to keep his irritated facade limited to just his eyes, where only she can see. It’s mostly working; to outsiders, it looks like he’s sharing a loving moment with his wife. 

_ Sam’s gotten good at this, _ she thinks again.

“It’s a little sad that this is just a cover, you know. Because I was thinking that  [ _ you can be my lover, cause love looks better in color _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjcXNK-zUFg) ,” she sings softly. 

He fixes her with his most annoyed look yet. “Why are you like this?”

“Hey, I’ve got ten years to make up for. So buckle up, my love.”

“ **Hey, not to interrupt because this is highly entertaining** ,” Bucky starts, “ **but what should we do now? Follow Avellar back to her place, get them when they’re least expecting it?** ”

“Is that what you want to do? Right now?” Sam asks, a little incredulous. 

“ **Not really, no. I think we need an actual plan. But I’m not in charge here. Sam?** ”

Sandy nods and leans back into Sam’s shoulder. She decides to put in her two cents before he makes a decision, though she’s pretty sure what that is. “We can’t just attack them now. His security detail is still too tight. Too many unknown factors. And even though we are four very capable beings, I’d rather not be dumb about this.” She also realizes she’s not in the perfect headspace to carry out an attack tonight. As Frank said almost two weeks ago, they can’t go into this  _ shit show _ in anything but tip top shape.

“So, we need to cripple his supply of people,” Sam confirms. He tilts his head so that he’s almost talking directly into Sandy’s earpiece. “Keep doing what we’re doing.”

“ **Make sure he thinks we’re still just doing small time stuff and he’s safe,** ” Frank adds. “ **Better make it quick, though. The more we drag this out, the worse it could get.** ”

“Agreed. So we need to get out of here soon and regroup.”

“ **About that…** ” Bucky sighs. “ **I think things are going a little too smoothly. Are you two sure you’re not under suspicion? I don’t see anything on the video feeds, but…** ”

Sam lifts his head slightly to look around, turning the two of them in a spin in time with the music as well. Party goers are barely paying attention to them, too engrossed in alcohol and the delicious array of food. And each other. Some are openly gawking at the band, too. Typical party scene. Even Letícia has stopped paying attention to them. Robinson, one of the more prestigious guests and number four on Bucky’s current shit list, is still there chatting her up, but she looks significantly more engrossed in the conversation now. Good. Takes some of the edge off Sandy’s nerves. 

“No, we’re blending in pretty well,” Sam eventually says. He starts to slowly move them closer to the entrance. “So we should be good to sneak out of here in a minute or two. We’ll rest up tonight, come up with some stuff tomorrow.”

Sandy hums lowly. “I’m not gonna jinx anything by saying what we’re all thinking, but yeah. And go team! We totally figured it out on extremely limited information. The biggest clue being gathered by yours truly.”

“ **Stop being proud of that,** ” Frank scolds. “ **That was reckless.** ”

“You’re not my mother,” she repeats. It’s received with a growl from Frank and a chortle from Bucky.

“Children,” Sam sighs, annoyed but with a faint touch of fondness. “I work with children.”


	10. Sleepless in Rio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone’s okay after the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! This is a angsty and dialogue heavy chapter. But the next few will have more action and things in general will start to pick up.
> 
> Also, the link over a character’s name is just for actor reference, that’s all.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It’s 3am when Bucky finally climbs down from his rooftop vantage point. He stayed up there longer than they normally do on night watches, but it was necessary to calm his nerves. Things went a little too smoothly at the party, and it’s been eating at him ever since. They had no tails, the anonymous tip about people tied up in the woods is scheduled to be made mid-morning, the Carlson’s phones and clothes have been returned to them—all without showing their actual faces. Everything is going according to plan. 

Which is probably why Sandy’s also still awake, too, Bucky thinks. 

The apartment is dark, but he can hear her breathing and the soft  _ clack _ of her fingernails against each other. Something she does when she’s lost in thought, bored, or just acting like she’s not paying attention. It’s an odd habit, but whatever. Bucky’s got a few of those himself, so...

She doesn’t respond when he closes the front door just loud enough to alert her of his presence but not to wake Sam and Frank, who each have a bedroom for the night. She also doesn’t respond when he takes purposefully noisy steps into the living room. And she doesn’t even look at him when he stops a few steps in front of the couch, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

_ Odd _ .

As he watches her stare at her lap while still doing that thing with her nails for a solid minute and a half, waiting for some kind of reaction to his close proximity, his mind wanders back to the party. Again. She sounded reluctant to go originally, but she seemed to be in her element earlier that evening. Despite the awkward bit of flirting Frank pestered her about. She was fine from what Bucky could see, throwing out her usual quips while staying mostly on mission. At least, up until—

Bucky winces. Sam’s used that same voice with him plenty of times when Bucky’s having bad days, and occasionally vice versa. Something in Frank’s posture had changed too. It’s why Bucky tried lightening the mood a little before voicing his concerns. 

And he’s been so hung up on their safety that he hasn’t paid attention to anyone else. And apparently Sandy’s not okay. 

She’s already a small person, but being curled up on that couch, knees pulled to her chest and almost being swallowed up by the oversized sweater, a hollow look on her face… it makes her seem so  _ tiny _ now. Her big personality isn’t there to make up for her stature anymore, and Bucky realizes—stupidly—that she’s probably got some serious shit in her past, too. More than she lets on, at least. 

“Hey,” he says, so soft he barely hears it leave his own mouth.

The flinch and wild-eyed look she gives makes him immediately regret saying anything at all. Really, he should have done this earlier. Then maybe she’d actually be sleeping by now, getting some well-deserved rest. 

They just stare at each other for what seems like an eternity before she musters up a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hey, handsome. We all good?”

Her voice is broken and ragged, as if she’s been crying, but he can tell she hasn’t. Not yet, anyway. 

He nods to answer her question before frowning and lowering his chin. “Wanna talk about it?”

He knows he probably should just let her be. Maybe get her a cup of water or something. At least just sit there in silence, let her know she's not physically alone. But he also knows it’s sometimes worse not talking. And oddly enough, that seems to be what she’ll do without a gentle prod. One he’s willing to provide. 

She drops the smile and shrugs, turning away from him again to stare at her knees. “Guess I shoulda figured you’d see through me.”

Answer enough, but not flat out rejection.

Quietly, because he’s still scared he’ll startle her—a troubling thought in its own right, considering this is Sandy—he sits down on the couch next to her. It’s not very large, so he tries to make himself as small as possible so as not to touch her. Personally, he doesn’t have much of an aversion to that these days with the right company. But given the current situation, he doesn’t want to overstep some hidden boundary. With her, physical contact never seemed to be an issue before. But this... She looks so fragile. 

“Stop looking at me like that.”

He blinks and meet her eyes. He hadn’t even realized that she started looking at him. “Wha—”

“Like I’m made of glass and I’m gonna shatter at any moment. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m a tough bitch. I’ll be fine.”

He gives her a sad smile. “I see that. But everyone has their limits. Whatever... happened, it’s best not to keep it bottled up. It’ll fester and grow until it eats you alive. Don’t let it do that.”

“Talking from experience, huh?”

It’s rhetorical, but he nods and answers anyway, “Yeah, you could say that.”

The laugh she gives is dry, and even though she’s not looking directly at his face anymore, she’s not turning away from him, so he takes that as a good sign. “You’re sounding more like Sam every day.”

“Oh, god.” The lopsided smile betrays the scathing intention of his words.

Her laughter that time has more heart to it. “It’s not such a bad thing. He can be helpful.”

“Talking from experience?”

She finally meets his gaze again. Even in the low light, he can see plenty of emotion churning in her eyes. “You could say that.”

He lets himself smile for a moment while they just watch each other. Gives her a small nod, as in  _ it’s okay to talk, I’m listening. _

“I suppose I should start at the beginning.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. And though her voice is stronger than when he first entered the room, it still shakes a little. “Guy named Coulson recruited me into S.H.I.E.L.D. while I was still in college. Just for data analysis, engineering, stuff like that. Sounds like a great idea at the time. I’ll get to develop cutting edge tech and help save people in one way or another. An office job with great benefits, and despite it being a spy organization, no real danger. Not that I shied away from danger back then. But still. Wasn’t ever meant to go out into the field and be a spy. Time goes on, I get to know some of the other agents. Ended up getting them to try and teach me advanced self-defense. You can never be too careful, especially when you look like me.”

Bucky chuckles quietly, and she goes on.

“Long story short, I get a CO, Melinda, who starts training me for the field. Even got the famous Black Widow to show me some stuff.” Her voice cracks ever so slightly on Natasha’s code name. He frowns. He didn't know her well, but the loss still stings. Sandy goes on after a beat of silence. 

"Anyway, I end up starting to branch out, go undercover when they need me to. One day, Fury calls me and this other agent,  [ John Bronson ](https://wwwimage-secure.cbsstatic.com/base/files/107163_d0267b.jpg) , into his office and gives us an assignment in China. It was just supposed to be finding out where these terrorists are getting their funding, where they’re hiding this high-tech equipment they shouldn’t have access to. Doesn’t give us a time table, says to do what's necessary.” A fond expression crosses her face and she laughs, “Bucky, I thought this guy was gonna blow my cover before we even had a shot at getting the mission started. He had the thickest Southern accent I’ve ever heard, and I was like, ‘Why the hell is Fury pairing me up with this dude? Is this a test?’ But, since this is Fury we’re talking about, I shouldn’t have had any doubts. John spoke Mandarin just fine, even though he pretended not to, knew his role and stuck to it, played the part of suave businessman husband really well. We got along like two peas in a pod, actually. Sometimes it’s easy to get close to someone when you spend nearly a year living with them.”

She looks up at him for a moment, and whatever good things she’d been feeling are gone now. Bucky thinks he knows where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. 

“Every time we’d get close to figuring out where they were getting the money and equipment from, we’d hit a roadblock. John was good at schmoozing up people. Almost as good as me. But whatever intel we could gather from these people wasn’t quite good enough. Had trouble hacking into anything, which is why we were so reliant on word of mouth. Woulda been easier…” She huffs bitterly. “Eventually, at one of these big fancy events in Beijing, like the one tonight, we got made. We didn’t know it at the party, otherwise things would have gone differently. Better, probably. We were ambushed on our way back to the hotel. I was trying too hard to save the data on my laptop and…”

She takes a very shaky breath and bites down on her lip to try and stave off the tears.

“It’s my fault. It’s always my fault. I was supposed to have his back.”

There’s a sickening feeling brewing in his gut now. Bucky shakes his head and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You were following orders, trying to finish the mission.”

_ That _ tastes a little less sour than it used to. 

“That's just it, though. The data on that laptop was basically irrelevant. It all led to dead ends anyway. I didn’t need it. John was more important. I should have never…”

The grip on her shoulder tightens. She nods, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats, more firm but still gentle. 

“It is. And it ruined everything when I got back. A little while before I left, I’d started seeing this other agent, Bobbi Morse. Funny, smart as fuck, and probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. We were good together, and I really liked her. But after losing John, ruining the mission... I pushed her away. Pushed everyone away. Wouldn’t see any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. therapists because I knew what they’d tell me. And they haven’t been through what I’ve been through, so why should I listen? Thought it was all gonna be bullshit. And I wasn’t sure I even wanted help. I was just... in a really bad place, Bucky.”

“If it helps,” Bucky begins slowly, “it took me years before I’d talk to anyone about what happened.”

When she looks at him again, there’s a tiny glint in her eyes. “Sam finally get you to talk?”

His smile grows more genuine as he thinks about Shuri and Steve. T’Challa and Okoye, too. “Not at first, actually. Other friends. But he’s definitely helped. Even if he is a giant pain in the ass sometimes.” 

And Sam did try the few occasions he and Steve visited Wakanda. Bucky wasn’t as open then, but he appreciated the effort. And that Sam treats him like a normal human being now, rather than like he’s made of glass, as Sandy put it. And he knows Bucky as he is now, not as he used to be. Which is more refreshing than he would have thought, honestly. So Bucky’s complaining has no real bite behind it. He quite enjoys their banter, actually. Enjoys Sam’s company overall. 

“I love that man,” she chuckles softly. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.” He watches her patiently, noting how she looks at least a little better. Sam does have that effect on people. “Eventually, I got cabin fever and had to go somewhere. Anywhere, really. Just as long as it was out of my apartment. And Coulson had mentioned the VA once or twice in the past, so why not start there? Thought I’d try to make myself feel a little bit worse by listening to people who’ve had much shittier times than I have. Be a masochist, y’know. So, I found myself in one of Sam’s group sessions. Didn’t say anything, but something about Sam and the way he treated everyone, and he’d lived through this shit... It stuck with me. So I kept coming back. Started talking a little bit. Eventually, we started having more private sessions.”

He gives her a raised eyebrow, not really entirely sure which way she means it. But when she laughs in response, he knows the answer.

“Not like that, unfortunately,” she sighs ruefully. “Though the thought did cross my mind. He’s a beautiful man. But that would have been a bad idea for both of us. Sex and relationships weren’t going to help me at the time, and we both knew it. ‘S why I couldn’t go back to Bobbi.” She suddenly leans over and nudges him with her shoulder. “I don’t know how far along you feel like you are in your recovery, but I'm sure he’d be willing if you asked.”

Bucky falters, and Sandy’s mischievous grin does nothing to help him formulate a good response. Even if it’s just a shadow of her normal attitude. “I...uh—”

Another nudge. “Just teasing you, handsome.”

And that. That doesn’t help either.

“Though I can totally see it happening.”

“I thought we were talking about you,” he says after clearing his throat awkwardly.

The grin falls away, and she’s clutching her legs to her chest a little tighter now. Bucky really doesn’t want to keep intentionally adding to her sour mood, but it’s become apparent that she’s been bottling things up for a while. How long, he’s not sure. What he is sure of, however, is that she needs to let it out before it decides to come out on its own, likely at an inopportune moment. One that will cause her even more pain in the long run.

And he’ll be damned if he’s going to let anything happen to any of them. So he nudges her ever so gently.

“The way I saw things, the way I’d changed…” Sandy shakes her head sadly. “There was no way I could go back to Bobbi, even after I’d recovered enough to start going back out into the field. Thought I’d messed that up too much. And I couldn’t let fellow agents get close enough again. Not when I could get them killed. That mindset is… it’s still here, but basically my friends started giving me no choice but to get close again. I’m thankful, really. Means I’m not so alone all the time.”

“So did you start dating again?”

She shakes her head. “Nah. Too hung up on Bobbi and too afraid I might mess something up. I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not good with romantic feelings anymore. This job isn’t—wasn’t, though I guess  _ this one _ still isn’t—the best for relationships. Other people can make it work, but I wasn’t willing to risk it. Messed it up once when something really bad happened, so who’s to say I wouldn’t just do it again?”

Bucky hums lowly, then says, “I think I know how you feel.”

“Glad you get it. Not everybody does. Another reason I wasn’t even willing to try.” There’s no sound in the room for a moment besides the low rumbling of the air conditioning unit until Sandy sighs and glances at the ceiling. “But I think the worst part is, when I had no other choice than to ask for her help again a couple years ago, back when I first met Frank, she told me that she would have welcomed me back, back then. No questions asked. So I screwed up again. No second chance while she was in front of me, either. Couldn’t permanently drag her into Frank and I’s mess. And, she got remarried a couple months earlier, so even if I wanted to, it wouldn’t have worked out. Guess you could say that she’s the one that got away.”

Bucky lets his mind briefly drift to Steve. He wonders if there’s any sort of universe where they get to have their own normal, happy endings, one without constant wars, torture, loss, and other forms of trauma. The thought tastes bitter, since the timeline he’s stuck in seems to have other plans for the both of them. And not all of those plans are good.

“So, I went back to work full time a few months before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. happened. We went underground for a while, I teamed up with who was left, mostly tracking down old H.Y.D.R.A operatives and taking care of them. Did a lot of individual field work when I could. Bunch of shit happened while I wasn’t at home base. Fast forward a little bit, then I somehow ended up discovering I have alien DNA. And as good as I am, I can’t figure out where that happened in my bloodline. Can’t very well ask my family about it.”

This heavily piques Bucky’s interest. “Why not?”

The crease in her brow deepens. “When S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, I made it look like I died, too. They didn’t know I’d started going undercover. They knew my work was secret, so it wasn’t hard to keep up the lie. And it’s... It’s just better if they think I’m dead. Less risk of them getting hurt, should my identity ever be revealed.”

He severely regrets asking for clarification. Her bottom lip is trembling and her knuckles are white from how hard she’s gripping her knees. It makes Bucky sick to his stomach. Well, more than he already was. 

“I can’t tell if it’s better to just not have anyone, or have people that you can’t ever see again.”

“You have us.”

His words surprise him only a little, but Sandy a lot. She searches his face for a long moment, looking for any proof that he’s joking, he assumes. When she finds none, she lets herself smile. “Guess so. Even if I keep getting everyone around me killed or almost killed. I’m a little surprised Frank hasn’t kicked me to the curb yet.”

In any other conversation, he wouldn’t have thought so much of her comment. But something tells him there's more to it than just  _ I’m annoying _ . “Something happen?”

She shrugs with one shoulder. “He almost died. My fault, as always.”

“Doesn’t seem like he blames you.”

She scoffs. “He usually thinks almost dying is always his fault. I get called out for  _ every other _ time I do something wrong, which is more than I’d like to admit. But that… that was actually my fault. We walked into a trap laid out by the guy trying to frame me for the Vice President’s murder. Frank’s capable of taking care of himself, but the guy had sense enough to separate us while making it look like it was our idea. Didn’t realize  _ that _ until later, but still. Shoulda seen the signs. And I’ve watched enough movies to know you should never separate when you don’t know exactly what you’re walking into.”

“Hindsight’s always 20/20.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any better.” 

Well, maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.

“I was able to get back to him in time, get him back to our hideout. I’ve been trained a little in field medicine, but the extent of his injuries… I couldn’t save him on my own. Which is why I called Bobbi. To borrow your hindsight thing, it’s a good thing I didn’t know Curtis then. He’s seen Frank and me scuffed up enough times since then that I’m glad I didn’t have to add  _ nearly watching Frank die again _ to that list. Plus, I got closure on some stuff with Bobbi. Stuff neither of us really found the will to talk about when we were back at S.H.I.E.L.D. Besides just the ‘I would have taken you back’ thing.” 

Bucky grunts in agreement, nodding. “Takes time to talk about stuff like that.”

“True,” she hums. Then, her head tilts to the side and she gives him a mirthless smile. “Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.” Almost immediately, regret overtakes her features. “Shit. I really shouldn’t be saying that to you of all people. Sorry, Bucky, I—”

In truth, Bucky’s tired of people apologizing to him. It’s totally understandable and he doesn’t blame them, but he’s tired. He hopes his expression conveys this because he doesn’t actually want to say it. It’s important to move forward, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys talking about these things. Aiding other people with similar issues has always been easier. Which is why he wants to keep Sandy on track. “It’s okay. And Frank’s alive now, you’re alive.” 

She clearly catches on. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, we’re both pretty cut up all the time, but yeah. Him usually more than me. Which is one reason I decided to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. Being alone is hard. And, even though he won’t openly admit it, it was wearing on Frank. On me. I know I said I just got tired of the spy games and shit, wanted to do something to help those that get overlooked, and that’s all true. But… Something had changed at S.H.I.E.L.D. So I left. And here I am.” She spreads her arms out. “Got nowhere else to go.”

“I’m sure S.H.I.E.L.D. would take you back. If you wanted.” In truth, he doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know what they would do, but reassurances don’t hurt.

Sandy scoffs again, “After all I’ve been doing? This isn’t just petty theft. I can’t go back, even if I wanted.”

“You’d be surprised what family is willing to forgive.” Shit, he certainly is.

“I’m sure some people would. And they are still kind of my family, but… I don’t feel like I belong there anymore. Took some time, but I realized I need Frank as much as he needs me. So it’s okay. Besides, gotta say, as morbid and sadistic as this sounds, it feels really good getting to watch the life drain from the lowlives we kill. Personally, rapists and sex traffickers are my favorite to kill. And being able to give their money away to the victims is icing on the cake.”

Something clicks for Bucky, and he laughs quietly. “So that’s you, huh? Might just take a page from your book once all this is over.”

“Feel free, handsome,” she chuckles. “I write a pretty good book, so take a few pages.” 

Silence settles between them for a few moments. Not uncomfortable this time, though. Sandy reaches for her water bottle and chugs it, asking something almost the second she’s pulled the bottle from her lips.

“Stupid question, but you know what blood smells like, right?” 

Yes, but she doesn’t give him the chance to respond. 

“I still smell it sometimes. Randomly, I mean. Like sometimes when I’m out in public. Or in the bath the few instances I’m not cut up. And not just… Not just the generic blood smell. What it smelled like that night in Beijing. I’m not even sure what triggers it, or even if it is triggered by anything. Kinda gave up on figuring that out a while back. Just deal with it now.”

Bucky nods. “Me, too. And I get phantom pains in my arm.” He motions at the metal connection on his shoulder, which is covered by his black long sleeve henley. “Used to be just from my fall, so it was centered right here.” His fingers drift lower on his bicep. “Now, I get them here, too. From the last time I was in Siberia. It’s a different kind of pain, but still.”

“Ah.” Her eyes flicker briefly over his arm, then back to his face. “That why you have a new arm? Or did Shuri just wanna give you an upgrade and non-Nazi arm?”

Bucky snorts. “The first. Though I’m pretty sure she would’ve given me a new arm anyway. She’s always talking about improving existing tech. Besides just making new stuff.”

“Sounds like my kinda girl.”

“I think you guys’d get along. I’ll do what I can to sneak you two into Wakanda before we drop you back into New York. Sam and I have been dying to get back there anyway.” 

_ God _ , Bucky could use a vacation. Whatever form that takes, whether it’s occasionally sparring with T’Challa and some of the Dora Milaje, tending to his (hopefully not actually long forgotten) farm, or spending days in Shuri’s lab catching up on five years of memes and pop culture while she tinkers with things, he’s game for it. 

As if reading his mind, Sandy shrugs, but offers him a sly smile. “Wouldn’t wanna spoil your vacation. When was the last time you took one of those, anyway?” Her tone indicates that however long will be too long in her eyes.

“What, this doesn’t count as a vacation?”

“I do love the South American sunshine, but my idea of vacation usually involves less getting shot at. There’s enough of that in my daily life.” She clicks her tongue. “But hey, to each their own.”

“No, you and I probably have the same definition. I think we could all use one, honestly.”

“You’re not wrong. But,” she sighs miserably, “we’ve gotta take care of a few more shit stains first. Which I am glad to do. But now you’ve got me thinking about going surfing and shit.”

“Not my intention when I walked in, but that works.” He offers her a kind smile, one which she returns with equal enthusiasm. “We’ll be all right. We’ll get through this together.”

She nods at him, and he notices a little of her enthusiasm fade, but not much. “Thanks, Bucky. I’ve got your back,” she says seriously.

He was right to get her to talk. He knows he’s not Sam or Frank, someone who she knows intimately, but he’s glad she felt comfortable enough to open up to him about stuff she obviously doesn’t like talking about. Now he totally gets why Sam spends as much time as he can doing this stuff.

“And I’ve got yours,” he affirms. After a moment, he leans back and throws his arm over the back of the couch, casting her a look that he hopes conveys his unspoken invitation.

She smiles at him again, more suggestively this time, and settles into his side. “If you wanted to cuddle so bad, you didn’t need to butter me up first, handsome. All you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t make this weird, please.”

“Oh, fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John’s technically an existing Marvel comics character but I think he’s mentioned like one time in the 70+ years of the comics. Elsie Carlson’s an actual character, too, but she’s mentioned like once too. I just like throwing in random characters and references in because I’m That Nerd lol


	11. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re about to read it but I don’t wanna spoil anything so... shit goes down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! This chapter was supposed to be broken into two shorter ones, but I realized how kind of pointless it was for me to drag out what happens in the first half, so I kind of summarized it into a few paragraphs. Those are in past tense because Sam’s reflecting on it, then it’ll be back in present tense once we catch up. Hope that’s not too confusing. 
> 
> But yay more action! Which is so fun for me to write, and I hope y’all like it too!
> 
> Bit of a warning for some darker themes. Unfortunately, it's the kind of stuff the Punisher kinda takes with him wherever he goes.

There were several red flags throughout their raid of the small, mostly fake hair salon the next night. The building itself wasn’t in fantastic shape, though it looked like it definitely belonged in the part of Ipanema they’d discovered it in. But that wasn’t what caused alarm bells in Sam’s head. Security wasn’t nearly as tight as they’d planned for. The men there—which had Sandy making an off-hand remark about how it’s only been _ male goons  _ that they’ve been running into—seemed like the cheapest money could by. They totally unprepared; most of them were watching soccer in what could be considered their break room, and it took Frank all of five seconds to take care of them. No roof sentries, and only one guard stationed near the front. Sam knew his team was efficient, but this was too easy. In the moment, he’d chalked it up to the fact that the weapons stash they were guarding was small: two crates of semi-automatic shotguns with the most basic of upgrades. Not DNA or fingerprint encoded like Sam’s starting to suspect they’ll run into eventually. 

The intel they’d gathered from Letícia led them to believe the “presents” she’d alluded were in this building were something along the lines of more high-tech equipment, guns, the latest as-of-yet unreleased iPhone, whatever. It couldn’t have been the shotguns, because in no way did that make up for the vibranium bombs. They came to the conclusion that the weapons were just meant as an emergency stash for the men there, not to be distributed to god knows where and definitely not an appeasement for Markoff. 

As they continued searching for secret compartments and more heavily guarded rooms, of which there were none, Sam started to wonder what the hell was going on. 

What they actually found in a poorly lit, unconcealed, too small room at the very back left Sam horrified and enraged. 

A large group of battered, shaking, scantily clad women, eyes wide as saucers and huddled up together on cots at the far end of the room. They looked terrified of the new arrivals. At least until they saw Sam’s uniform and shield. Then they began crying in broken Portuguese, and Sam was too stunned to ask for a translation. He did catch what sounded like  _ Captain America _ and  _ thank you _ as they grabbed his hand with their own too-cold ones. It wasn’t until he got a closer look at them that he realized some couldn’t be older than eighteen. One of the younger ones was at least two months  _ pregnant.  _ And none of them looked like they’d had a decent meal or restful sleep in a while. 

Sam couldn’t decide which of the nasty emotions he was feeling was strongest, but heartbroken was definitely a contender. And when he looked at his friends, he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

Before the other three could, Sandy took the initiative and led the women out of the building. She kept her tone as warm and calming as she could while showed them the fastest escape route and where to find the proper authorities, ones she and Sam verified weren’t on the Magnate’s payroll beforehand.  _ This _ wasn’t what they’d planned on using those stations for, but Sam’s eternally grateful Sandy suggested it.

Bucky had handed the two oldest and strongest looking women guns just in case. Sam gave him a look, to which he explained, in a broken voice, that he also told them to ditch the guns in the nearest gutter once they get close enough to the police station. They needed protection from any of the Magnate’s people they might run into (god forbid), but they also didn’t need to walk into a police station armed. Sam’s team risked being spotted if they escorted the women there, so he conceded easily and quietly. 

Sandy went to work on pulling out relevant data from the computers left behind as soon as the women had left, and other than simple directions and confirmations, not much else was said. Unsurprisingly, Frank had been the most silent, though the clenched jaw and hard look on his face spoke volumes.

When they finally arrive back at the safety of their apartment after a tense and silent car ride, everyone suddenly has something to say.

“This was already the plan, but I’m gonna fucking kill every fucking one of them and make it hurt.”

“I should have killed that bitch before we left the party.  _ She knew about this. _ ”

“God damned monsters.”

Sam stays silent as they openly fume. His mouth and throat are dry as a bone, so he quickly makes himself a glass of water and greedily sucks it down. He knows this type of bullshit is common among the people he’s now used to hunting down, but he’s been lucky enough that he hasn’t come face to face with it until now. As he silently watches Sandy pace, water begins to materialize and form oblong shapes around her; she’s seemingly doing this unconsciously. Frank aggressively runs his hands through his hair and over his face from his seat at the dining table. Suddenly, Sam realizes that, even though those two have rescued their fair share of victims from these circumstances, it’ll never get easier. It means they  _ care _ , which is a good sign, but it also means each time will mean adding another item onto each of their lists of nightmare fuel. Sam suspects that list will never stop growing.

“What the fuck?” Sam mumbles, more to himself than anything. He leans forward and splays his hands out on the counter. A deep breath helps steady his body, though his mind is still reeling. What would have happened to those women if they’d never gotten that clue?

“Nobody said this would be easy,” Bucky answers. He’s hunched over on the couch, face buried in his hands.

“No,” Sam agrees. When Bucky lifts his head to meet Sam’s gaze, he continues. “But yeah, I wasn’t expecting this.” 

After he clears his throat, not for dramatic effect or anything, Frank fixes them with a hard look. “You weren’t expecting this?” He scoffs and flicks his wrist between himself and Sandy. “See, this is the kind of shit we have to deal with all the time. Once you go down this road of hunting down pieces of shit, this is all there is. The weapons and shit are always just the beginning. Especially for rich fucks like him,” he finishes, flexing his hand in agitation. 

“This is why we do what we do,” Sandy adds. She’s stopped pacing and the water’s disappeared. A sharp sigh leaves her lips as her arms fold across her chest. “It was stupid of me to think that maybe, just this once, we wouldn’t have to run into this… but Frank’s right. Weapons are never where it ends. Gotta keep your buyers happy.” She shudders and almost vomits when the words leave her mouth.

“So forget our original plan. We need to move faster.”

It surprises Sam only a little that that comes out of Bucky’s mouth and not Frank’s. However, he doesn’t have to wait long for Frank’s two cents.

“No more dragging our damn feet. Once they figure out these girls are gone, they’ll just go find more.”

Sandy nods. “The sooner Myers and his league of shit gibbons are dead, the more girls we save from this fate. The sooner we get back home.”

Oh, Sam knows the exact reaction he’ll get at his next words, but he knows they need to be said. “This won’t put an end to sex trafficking here.”

“Are you serious?”

There it is. From Frank predictably. And he’s not going to let Sam finish, apparently, taking his words to mean something else.

“Sam...?” Bucky whispers incredulously. The disappointment and shock in his eyes pull painfully at Sam’s heart. Don’t they know each other well enough by now? 

Sam opens his mouth, but Frank abruptly stands, eyes ablaze.

“So what, you just wanna ignore this? Keep pussy footing around, let them restock and go hide somewhere else, probably somewhere outside of Rio? This shit isn’t high up on your fucking Accords list, so if we leave, the problem doesn’t get solved. I don’t like loose ends, and if that means ditching you and going by myself again, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

That’s not what he meant at all, and Sam visibly bristles and is about ready to die at the thought of sitting back and doing nothing. But apparently nobody’s intent on letting him speak his own mind.

“Frank,” Sandy warns. She’s moved to stand in between Sam and Frank, hand pressed to the latter’s chest to keep him still. “Most of the time you’re a good listener, and I love you for it, but  _ sit down  _ and let Sam finish.”

Her tone is incredibly serious, and scarily so; more than he’s heard her get in a long time, so he doesn’t question why there’s no follow-up quip, or why Frank follows her instructions as easily as he does. His movements are slow, but that’s the only resistance he offers. When he takes his eyes off Sam for a brief second to look at her face, there’s a flicker of something unrecognizable in his eyes. It’s gone too quick, but it Sam can tell it wasn’t negative at least. And it’s the only change in expression.

Before he continues, Sam offers Sandy a small nod of thanks. “What I meant was this: we all know this isn’t Myers’ first priority, otherwise we woulda found a lot more cases back in the states. So taking him out isn’t gonna put an end to it like we’d all like it to.” He holds up a hand quickly in case Frank wants to interrupt, then looks at Sandy. “We need to pull whatever info we can off those servers and the next place we hit that’ll lead us to whatever other assholes these guys were working with. People are trickier than weapons, so he had to have help getting this set up.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “We find out who that is, then maybe after we take care of our first problem, we see what else we can do.”

“Sam.” When Sam looks at him, eyebrows raised, Bucky says, “The Accords are gonna find some reason to try and call us back in sooner rather than later.”

He knows Bucky hates playing devil’s advocate in these situations. But he’s right. Even if the Accords committee is much looser nowadays, the longer they stay away and off the grid, the more cagey the committee will be and the harder it’ll be to keep Sandy and Frank out of the mess. “I know. I’m surprised nobody’s come after us yet.”

“And when you go, you’ll be taking the quinjet with you,” Sandy states matter-of-factly. She may be a hell of a good spy, but Sam knows her well enough to tell that the disappointment he sees isn’t just because he’ll be taking one of her favorite toys or the new companion she loves playfully torturing. 

It’s because he’s leaving,  _ again _ , which is something he’s beginning to realize cut her deeper than she lets on. Something he intends on hashing out with her eventually, but not now.

“Which means if we stay and finish the job, we’ll be stuck getting some sort of public transportation back home. And I hate public transport,” she goes on, jutting out her lower lip for effect. 

A decisive shake of the head, and Sam counters, “You can’t stay here. We get called back, you have to come too. At that point, the most we can do is pass along the info to someone who can take over. Legally. Besides,” he pauses, watching Frank carefully, “don’t you two have a job to do back in New York?”

Frank’s jaw ticks, and Sam knows he’s got him. As far as he can tell, the only people truly after Frank and Sandy are under the Myers’ payroll. Barring them stepping on any toes other than ones he and Bucky are already planning on chasing down. Markoff will be first on the list, most likely. And Sam’s more than happy to make it look like an accident.

“We know people. It’ll get taken care of, one way or another,” assures Bucky. 

If other government agencies stay true to form and act like this is beneath them or try to give he and Bucky shit about how they got the information, Nakia and some of the Dora would probably be more than happy to take the reins. Which is exactly what Bucky’s thinking as he catches Sam’s eye. Sam feels some of the tension leave his body, knowing they’re back on the same wavelength again.

“They don’t,” Frank threatens, “I’ll do it myself.” He gives everyone a firm look, then stands back up and silently strides into one of the bedrooms.

None of the others say anything for a long moment until Sandy quietly sighs, “Thought I’d knocked that Lone Ranger streak out of him, but apparently not.”

“Old habits are hard to break.” Bucky offers Sandy a shrug and tight smile. “Take the bedroom tonight. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping.”

“Me either,” Sam admits. “I’ll take sentry duties for a while. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I think everybody needs a breather right now.”

Bucky joins Sam on the roof a while later, where most of their night is spent in reflective silence. Their only exchange is one of minimal words, but it’s plenty for the two of them.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Shouldn’t have assumed...”

“It’s okay, Buck. I know you.”

* * *

Frank’s about halfway done with his shitty protein bar (where in the hell did Barnes even find these things?) when it happens. 

A loud rumble, followed by a violent shockwave that tears through the building, reverberating through Frank’s body and into his bones, leaving him momentarily off balance. Then, suddenly everything goes dark.

“What the fuck was that?”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” comes Sandy’s shaky reply. “An EMP.”

There’s enough late afternoon light coming in through the light-blocking blinds for Frank to see the pure panic on everyone’s faces.  _ Shit, this is not good. _ “An EMP?!” 

“Did one of yours go off accidentally?” Sam asks, slightly hopeful.

Sandy starts stuffing what she can in the nearest bag. “No, that wasn’t one of mine. Mine aren’t that powerful.”

“That means…” 

Oh, Frank is  _ very _ uneasy now. 

Everyone begins scrambling and following Sandy’s lead, grabbing necessary gear that, thankfully, they’ve been careful to leave easily accessible. They need to leave  _ now _ . 

There’s the sound of a fist slamming on a table, followed by a frustrated, “My wings are shot. God dammit. Bucky?”

“My arm’s fine.” He tries to sound calm, but the alarm is definitely there.

“It operates on a frequency so different from any that I’ve ever seen, so he’ll be fine.” Sandy’s voice carries from the kitchen. A sigh of relief. “My glasses are fine, too.”

Holstering his now fully loaded gun, Frank asks, “What do you see?”

Besides the sounds of frantic packing of guns and equipment, the apartment is eerily silent. Until, after a few beats, Sandy breathes, “They found us.” Muttered curses follow, and not just from her. Her head jerks around as she surveys the area. “There’s a ton of them coming from below. Some on the roof. This seems like a really stupid idea. It’d be so much smarter to just send a rocket and blow up this building.”

“Don’t give them any ideas!” Sam hisses. “This is so fucking bad. I can’t provide any air support with my wings fried.”

“I can fix that.” Sandy is suddenly much closer to Frank than he remembered. Sometimes he forgets how quietly she can move when she wants, she’s so damn vocal all the time. She places a hand on Frank’s chest a second later and meets his gaze, that familiar fire in her eyes. “But I need time that these guys aren’t going to give me.”

He knows immediately what she’s asking. This would go a whole lot faster if she could join him, but he knows they aren’t all going to get to safety without those wings. “How long?”

“As long as you can give me, dear.” A coy smile. She won’t take long, but it’ll be long enough for Frank to have a little fun. Good. After yesterday’s blood-boiling discovery, he’s rearing let out a lot of pent-up rage. 

“I’m going with you.”

Frank studies Barnes for a few beats before agreeing. “Yeah, okay. Back stairwell. I’ve got front.”

“Sam, stay here with me,” Sandy commands. She’s pulled out her toolkit and is already getting to work on rebooting the wings. “I need to concentrate on this and there’s people on the roof.” She tosses her glasses at him. “Use these and keep them off us.” She turns back to Frank and Barnes, who have just finished loading themselves with available weapons. “This isn’t local law enforcement.” 

Wilson adds, “So have at them, you two.”

Frank scoffs, tightening the straps on his vest. “I don’t need your permission.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so tense, but circumstances considered, he doesn’t have time to apologize and clarify his intention. And he figures—hopes—Wilson won’t take it to heart. Especially after last night. “Be fast.” One last meaningful glance at the two, and he’s gone, Barnes hot on his tail.

_ Keep each other safe. _

“Fourth floor?” Barnes asks. When he receives a nod, he darts off towards the outside emergency stairwell. It’s sturdier than a typical wrought iron New York fire escape, so Frank can’t suggest that Barnes just use his super strength and rip the thing apart. Whatever, he’ll make do. He’s smart enough.

Even though he doesn’t have the advantage of the Sandy’s glasses, Frank’s easily able to tell where the targets are. The inner staircase is fairly narrow and, typically poorly lit, which works to his advantage. A few slow, deep breaths bring his heart rate down to a more manageable level. It’s always so much easier when he doesn’t need to consider other people in his immediate vicinity. The others can handle themselves just fine, but that doesn’t stop the fear from rattling around in his chest, all the ways this can go terribly wrong flashing before his eyes.

The footsteps and ill-advised muttering are closer now.

_ Focus. _

The familiar click of the safety, a steady exhale…

Six well-aimed bullets to the heads, and the first wave of men go down. But Frank can’t stay there; he’s lost his element of surprise. So has Barnes, judging by the sounds of gunfire and impact of bodies against the walls.  _ The kid better not be holding back _ ...

Frank slips down a few steps, crouching to hide himself in the low light. More men scurry up the stairs, faster now. And carrying semi-automatics. The smart thing to do would be to just litter the area with bullets. They’d surely hit Frank  _ somewhere _ important.

Luckily, they aren’t smart.

He’s found a dark enough corner that the first man doesn’t notice him until it’s too late. Frank’s knife is already embedded in his throat, twisting until the man goes limp. His own face is covered in blood now, but he doesn’t care. He never does. Using the man’s body as a shield, Frank descends a few steps, lands directly in front of the rest of the goons. He pokes his gun around the side of the body and pulls the trigger. Two bullets land squarely in two exposed throats, and two men go down, gurgling and choking on their own blood. They’ll suffocate soon. Good, but there’s more men still coming. Frank drops his meat shield and lets the body clunk to the floor unceremoniously. The others are too far below, and he will not drag around literally dead weight. 

His keen eye catches them before they see him. He crouches again and quickly gets into position. Just two more floors and he’ll be at the rendezvous point. Hopefully Sandy and Sam will be done by then. 

A few more pulls of the trigger, and the next round of men are down. Bloodier than tactically necessary again, but not quite enough to satisfy Frank.  _ Worry about your anger issues later _ , he tells himself. He can still hear more coming up his stairwell, and echoes of Barnes’ descent faintly register in his ears. Guess the Magnate has no shortage of idiots at his disposal. As per usual with rich people.

The sound of gunfire below erupts and pulls Frank back to the matter at hand. Apparently now they’re getting smart. He presses his back into the wall as hard as he can. A bullet goes clean through his shoulder and Frank bites back a cry of pain. It’s not too bad, shallow and didn’t hit anything major as far as he can tell, but it’ll sure as hell need stitches and a good cleaning later. Unfortunately, it’s his right shoulder, which already creaks and groans with old wounds on good days.

The shooting stops, and Frank uses the opening to spring into action, staying low to the ground. He’s always hated when stairwells become fighting grounds; even though it’s easy to knock his opponents over the edge if he gets close enough, it’s also easy for him to take that same nasty fall. But not today.

Frank slices the back of the first man’s ankle. Then, he pulls the man’s other leg out from under him. He lands flat on his back in front of Frank, screaming bloody murder. Frank uses the opening to fire two bullets into the next man, who stumbles backwards into another goon. In the ensuing chaos, Frank, still staying low, wretches the man on the ground’s gun from his hand, but not before cracking his wrist and shooting him in the head with it. The third man, who is having trouble getting the second one out of his way, drops his gun, which leaves Frank an opportunity. He releases his signature war cry and plows into them. The goons fall down the next flight of stairs rather violently. Frank’s sure he hears the gratifying snap of broken bones somewhere between their strangled howls. 

Using the railings to steady himself, Frank vaults down to the landing where they’ve dropped. The one man left alive attempts to stand. Frank stomps down roughly on the side of the head. He’s not getting back up.

The stairwell is silent. Frank knows there are still more men around somewhere, but he can’t pinpoint them yet. It’s too dark, and they’re smartly staying quiet now. Slightly frustrated, he shrinks back against the wall and makes his way to the fourth floor landing. He barely has time to react to the figure that suddenly appears in front of him a few seconds after his feet hit the landing.

Frank’s gun jams into Barnes’ open vibranium hand. They share a look—Frank reads surprise and possibly disgust on Barnes, probably because of all the blood, though it can’t be the grossest thing Barnes has ever seen—and lower their arms, only to raise them again a half a moment later. More men have reappeared on each other’s backside. Frank snarls. Shit. Some of them had been hiding in the apartments. Perfectly in sync, they both glide past each other to get a better aim at their respective targets. Frank efficiently takes down his targets, but he’s not able to keep them from firing back first. 

Despite the fact that he positioned himself in front of Barnes’ back so that any bullets would likely hit his vest, one bullet sneaks past and lands squarely in Barnes’ ass cheek. He lets out a pained yelp, but stays standing. His own targets are already dead on the upper landing. 

Frank’s own body reacts unpleasantly with the memory of a very similar injury. It  _ sucked. _ “Hey, you all right?”

Barnes growls through clenched teeth. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

“Come on, kid.” He catches Barnes’ eye roll and smirks. He trusts the soldier’s super hearing to detect if they’re going to run into any trouble on the way down. They don’t.

At least, not until they reach the dark lobby.  _ Guess it was just the ones leading the charge that were stupid. _

They’re suddenly surrounded by a dozen men with semi-automatics. He and Barnes share another look, this one full of exasperation.  _ Fuck. Should’ve seen this coming. _

“Looks like you’re shit outta luck,” the man front and center goads in an American accent. Jersey, more specifically. That asshole will be Frank’s first target. 

Frank hears several guns cock and Barnes’ metal arm whir. There’s no way they’ll be able to get out of this without sustaining more injuries. The vibranium shield [doesn’t go 360], and the second Frank moves to cover Bucky’s back, the men will begin firing. 

It’s gonna be a shit show. All Frank can hope for at this point is that they can get back to their partners alive at the very least. 

At least, until the familiar glistening tendrils of water on the floor catch Frank’s attention. Before they can react, sharp spirals of water shoot up from under the men, vaulting them into the ceiling, hard. Several go limp on impact. Those that don’t are shot, but not by Frank or Bucky. 

They both whirl around at the same time to find Sandy and Sam, carrying all the bags they’d been loading up beforehand. Sam has his goggles—now fully functional—over his eyes, wings strapped securely in place, and both shield and gun at the ready. Both Sandy and Sam visibly flinch at the sheer contrast in the state of their friends. Barnes is mostly clean except for a few small spatters of enemy blood on his shirt and his own blood now soaking his backside, while Frank’s front is completely soaked.

After the worry drains quickly from her face, Sandy fixes Frank with  _ that _ look, hand hovering over his chest. “You’re so gross right now but I’m also  _ really _ feeling it.”

He’s not sure he’ll ever really get used to that in times like this. “For the love of Christ, can we please just go?”

“We don’t have time for  _ that _ ,” Sam cuts in, waving a finger at Sandy. His hand slowly drops away from Barnes’ shoulder. “We’re leaving. Now.” There’s no room for argument in his voice. 

“Our exit’s clear,” she confirms.

They all start for the back exit. 

“You were right, Bucky. Guess he didn’t take too kindly at all to us threatening his wife, huh? Or freeing those girls.”

“Guess not,” he grunts back. “But this begs the question…”

Sam pauses at the back door, reading the display on his goggles, and finishes, “How the hell did he find us?” 

“We both had nano masks on, and Bucky was able to scrap any footage of us from before or after the party,” she points out.

“We’ll figure it out later.” Frank has to redirect them. “We need to split up for now.”

“Right,” Sam agrees. “Buck, let’s go.”

“Air and ground routine?” Sandy asks. 

A nod, and everyone makes their way through the door. Frank watches as Sam launches two drones. After they’ve risen into the air high enough, the two drones cloak themselves in identical images of Sam decked out in full uniform, wings outstretched.  _ Wilson thinks of everything. _

Frank vaguely makes out that the projections show Sam holding someone in his arms, though the decoys are too far away and go off in different directions before he can figure out exactly who it’s supposed to be.

That question is answered when he hears Sam’s grumble of, “I hate this. You’re so heavy,” as he loops his arms under Barnes’ and around his chest. 

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one. I don’t like being suspended in the air. And I’m not wearing my vest,” was Bucky’s equally unhappy reply.

Ignoring Sandy’s knowing side eye (he’s said multiple times how much he hates flying and hopes to God Sam never has to air lift him), Frank starts out for their predetermined hideout. He hears the loud whir of Sam’s wings, then the two are gone. 

“Well…” Sandy looks as though she’s going to loop her arms around Frank’s midsection, but she pauses and pulls back, face contorted in a curious way. “I honestly have no idea how you don’t have some sort of blood borne disease by now.”

“Thought you said you were  _ really feeling it _ ?”

“I also said you’re really gross right now. I have standards, you know. I’m not touching you until you get a shower. Not that you’d really let me anyway.”

Frank grunts noncommittally, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Come on. The sooner we get there, the better.”

And the sooner he can end this conversation and properly deal with the painful throbbing in his shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to how they got discovered, and if the team’s even gonna be able to figure that out?
> 
> Oh and good news (hopefully lol)! I’m already planning a sequel for this that’s gonna involve like all of the Avengers and tons of SHIELD characters! Not gonna spoil anything but it’ll basically be an all-female team up, A-Force style. Even though the first few chapters of that story wouldn’t spoil anything for this one, I’ll refrain from posting it until I’m completely done here.
> 
> We’re more than halfway through, so buckle up for lots more action and angst. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We explore the aftermath of the last chapter. Gets a little sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I am so sorry this took like a month to update, but life has kicked my ass lately. Lots of personal stuff came up and for a while I wasn't in the right head space to really write anything. And I dragged my feet on this chapter partially because of the guest appearance, and I'm still afraid I didn't quite get their characterization down. 
> 
> And I'm sorry in advance cause I know this needs some heavy editing. I just wanted to go ahead and get it out. I'll leave it alone for like a week or two while I work on the next chapter, then come back and make edits. I've found that works pretty well for me.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

“This honestly was not how I thought my day would end.”

She snorts. “Me either. But now I'm curious. How’d you think fighting a bunch of guys with guns was gonna end?”

“I dunno, the sweet embrace of death.”

“Same bro.”

They’d met back up about forty-five minutes later at the sleazy motel Sam had picked out as a backup plan. It’s off the grid enough for their liking—well, “liking” is the wrong word. It’s an _ adequate _ place to lay low until they figure out what the hell to do next. And they’d better do it fast; nobody is comfortable in the small space, least of all Frank and Bucky. To make matters worse, the motel doesn’t have any other rooms available, so until checkouts the next day, they’re stuck in a single room. At least there’s two beds and Bucky’s used to taking naps wherever he can sit down—or stand up, as he’s had to do on occasion. 

_ It could be worse, though. _

Bucky winces as the bullet shifts in his skin again. Annoying little fucker it’s being. “At least it’s you pulling a bullet out of my ass and not Sam.”

She pauses, seeming to contemplate exactly how she should take that. “Because I’m a woman?” is what she settles on, voice full of her usual cheeky attitude.

It’s Bucky’s turn to stifle a laugh. “No, actually. Sam hates me, so he’d just end up making it worse on purpose.” It was going to end up being her anyway. A red-faced Sam had vehemently refused to stitch him up even before Bucky finished saying, “I got shot in the ass.” Then they found out Castle had a GSW in his shoulder, and Sam immediately went for the med kit. 

Which left Sandy. Despite the desire to get the bullet out ASAP so his body could start healing itself, he’d let Sam and Frank into the single bathroom first. Frank was much bloodier anyway. And Bucky doesn’t have to worry about lead poisoning, so he was fine to wait and keep watch until they emerged and started working on stitches. 

“Oh, Sarge,” she says, tutting and sounding more like she’s talking to an innocent child than a hundred-plus year old super assassin, “Sam doesn’t hate you.” Which is true; Bucky knows what hate looks like, but this is part of their relationship. “In fact—”

“God, this looks familiar.”

Both of their heads turn simultaneously to find Frank in the doorway, face unreadable. Apparently Sam’s done already.

Bucky has never been less sure what to say, but thankfully after a short pause, Sandy asks, “Though that’s not surprising… When? You’ve been in so many fucking fire fights—” she snaps the fingers on her free hand and continues—“The bar fight before the whole Billy Russo _ part deux _ thing, right? I thought I saw a bullet ricochet in the footage.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that you were stalking me.”

“Oh I was. And I still am. It’s just under the guise of keeping your digital footprint as small as possible, dear.”

Bucky’s now even more confused. And curious. “_ Part Deux _?” 

_ Maybe should have paid more attention to your homework, Barnes. _

Though he knows exactly why he hasn’t finished his background check. He pushes away an unwanted image and focuses back on studying Castle.

Frank’s face shifts between several emotions before settling on indifference. “Thought the first time that the justice system would do what it was supposed to, and he’d suffer for what he did. Turns out I was wrong. Not for the first time.”

He’s definitely hesitant to talk about it, and Bucky’s not sure he wants to poke a stick at that mess just yet. 

“It’s public knowledge, Frank. Bucky’s not stupid. He’ll find out eventually. Just tell him.” Sandy’s voice is softer now, more reserved. “He’s a good listener.”

Bucky just looks at Frank as calmly as he can muster. “Your call. You don’t have to tell me if you’d rather I just look it up.” He’s had his fair share of moments he’d rather not openly talk about. No sense in pushing someone else. Plus, he can always do more digging later, when maybe it won’t dredge up unwanted memories for Frank. 

Castle seems to contemplate this for a long moment. Bucky focuses his attention on the countertop and suppresses a painful grunt when Sandy starts digging around the entry wound again. Man, that bullet really dug itself in there. Bucky hears Frank's sharp exhale through his nose and looks up at him again, offering him a slight nod, telling him to go on when he’s ready.

“He, uh…” Frank’s voice is quiet and raspy, and he speaks slowly. That’s new. “He was my brother, when we were overseas. And when we came home. My kids, my wife, they loved him. But he was greedy. Sold us out because he was afraid I’d talk about the shit we’d done over there. Didn’t kill him the first time like I should have. Put people I care about in danger again. Did get innocent people killed.” His jaw muscles begin ticking and there’s a long pause before he continues, “Opportunity presented itself to fix my mistake, and I didn’t hesitate this time.”

Bucky doesn’t notice that Sandy’s actually pulled the bullet out until it clanks into the trash can loudly, startling both men. Frank flinches and scowls at Sandy, who, to her credit, actually looks apologetic. 

“Sorry. But it’s out.” There’s an awkward silence for a few moments while Sandy continues her work. Once she’s cleaned the wound with an antiseptic wipe and applied the very temporary butterfly stitches, she peels her gloves off and stands up. “You’re all done, handsome. As much as it pains me to say, you can pull your pants up now.”

“Oh my God,” Frank mumbles, followed by a long-suffering sigh. Sandy’s quip does its job. The somber mood that had settled in the bathroom dissipates, now replaced by Sandy’s obvious amusement and Frank’s usual irritation.

Bucky’s cheeks flush. “Thanks for that.” He manages to only sound a little embarrassed. 

“I’ll stitch you up anytime you need. Just don’t make _ this _ a habit. There’s better reasons to have your pants down in my company.”

* * *

“Are you nitpicking my handiwork?”

Sandy, whose face is inches from the new stitches in Frank’s exposed shoulder, waves Sam off. “Can’t a girl be worried about her friend?”

“That’s a strong word,” Frank mumbles.

“What, _ worried _? Well, I mean, you’re right. You’ve had worse injuries.” She leans away, straightening up again and sighing, “Still, ya got shot. Just wanted to look at your brand new battle scar myself.” 

Sam watches as she gives him a gentle smile, which Frank returns briefly before leaning back onto the headboard and digging into his bowl of _ moqueca de camarão _ . For a group of people who were _ being shot at _ a little over an hour ago, they’re all in relatively good spirits. Sam and Sandy, the two who didn’t actually sustain any injuries, are probably the main reason for that. After patching Frank up, Sam had snuck away to the restaurant next door and grabbed everyone some food. It’d started raining out of nowhere in typical South American fashion, so thankfully he was able to blend in easily with his hoodie and a hat. And when he returned, he found Sandy emerging from the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Presumably Bucky is still in there, cleaning himself off. 

Sandy pads over to the takeout bag and pulls out a box for herself. “Chicks dig scars, y’know,” she points out, mouth now full of food. Frank just rolls his eyes and doesn’t offer a verbal response.

“Dudes dig ‘em, too,” Sam offers, though he doesn’t really know why he says it. 

“The right ones do,” she agrees with a pointed look and raised eyebrow. 

Before she can say more, and make no mistake she does want to say more, Bucky emerges from the bathroom at the same time that Sam’s phone starts ringing. His phone is, _ like, mega encrypted _, as Peter would say, and only a handful of people have his number. And the last group text he’d sent to said people basically told them to only contact him in an emergency until further notice. So this doesn’t bode well.

And when he gets a look at the contact info, he knows for sure this won’t be good. “Aw, Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Bucky asks, leaning over to his bag and grabbing his good sweater.

“It’s Sharon.” Who would only call if it was an actual, real life emergency. 

“Well,” Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, “fuck.”

Sandy, who once more has her mouth full, asks, “Sharon as in your one brain cell among the three of you?”

Rather than deal with that this instant, Sam just casts her a withering glare and answers the phone with a calm, “Hey, Shar.”

“Hey, Sam. Where are you?” 

They talked about this cover before, but if she’s calling them to ask, Bucky and Sam know she knows something’s up. The latter pinches his nose and tries, “Wakanda. Needed a vacation.”

“Uh huh. So what’s really going on?”

_ Sam, please trust me. _

And he does. With his life. He and Bucky share a look, and Sam sighs through his nose. Mostly because it’ll be easier for Sharon to hear Bucky, Sam decides to switch to speaker. His “be quiet” gesture at Sandy is met with a childish pout. 

Bucky, now standing perilously close to Sam, has a question of his own, spoken in a quiet, curious voice. “Can we start off with why you’re calling to ask where we are?” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” she sighs. There’s a short pause on the other end, filled with a rustling sound, meaning she’s probably switching ears and walking to a more private area. Which is just _ great _ news.

Sandy must be thinking the same thing, because she mouths, “Yikes,” at him.

Finally, Sharon continues in a low voice, “Reports just came in about a group of young girls in Rio claiming they were rescued by a couple vigilantes. Led by a man who looks an awful lot like Captain America. Sam Wilson Captain America, specifically. Which is convenient, considering your Do Not Disturb text. So the Accords committee is coming to me since they can’t reach you.”

Yikes indeed. 

“It’s on the news, and people are asking questions. So, as a friend, can I ask you to tell me the truth?”

With a shared look, the same thought crosses both Bucky and Sam’s mind.

“It was us,” Sam admits.

“I thought so.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I’m a little offended you didn’t ask me to come along, too.”

“Plausible deniability,” is Bucky’s answer. “You’re safer the less you know.”

“Plus,” Sam adds, “we needed someone to watch our backs. And we trust you.”

“And I trust you. Which is why I’m only going to ask a few questions. First one: are you okay?” 

It’s so soft and serious and concerned, not judgemental, and so _ Sharon _, that Sam can’t help but smile. Neither can Bucky, apparently, he notices out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, yeah. Been a bit rough, but we’re okay. Be better when we can come home, though,” he answers earnestly, watching the Call Time numbers on his screen tick higher. 

“Good,” she sighs, relieved. “Second question: how much longer do you need?”

Frank and Sandy—who’s plopped down on the same bed as Frank, legs draped perpendicularly over his lap as she scarfs down the last few bites of her food—give him curious looks. Frank also adds a shrug.

_ That’s _ not _ helpful. _“Not much longer, hopefully.”

“Good. The faster, the better. It’s gonna take the committee some convincing.”

“Hey, ask Shuri and T’Challa for help,” Bucky says suddenly. “At the very least, Shuri can come up with a fake photo or something.”

“Got it. And if they need more convincing, wanna talk to you?”

“Yeah, she can just like, I dunno…” Bucky waves his hand around uselessly. “Bounce the signal around. Something.”

Bucky’s not _ that _ much more helpful, either. Good thing Sharon’s got experience, both with Bucky’s occasional vagueness and the whole espionage thing. 

“Okay. So, third question: who are the other two you’re with?”

Sam winces slightly. “Uh... you’re not gonna like the answer.”

Without any pretense and because sometimes he just likes to cut to the quick, Bucky states plainly, “Frank Castle.”

“Oh.” The line is silent for a moment, and Sam can perfectly imagine the face she’s making. “Jesus, that’s a surprise, and I want details later. So the woman—”

“Long time no see, Agent 13,” Sandy chirps. At least she’s not talking with her mouth full anymore. “Or hear, in this case.”

There’s a heavy pause on the other end. “McIntosh?” she asks incredulously.

This catches Sam’s attention. How in the hell do they know each other?

“The one and only.”

“Holy shit. I thought you were dead…”

“On the inside, yeah. Otherwise, I’m still around, ktaking names.”

“That would explain a lot of the whispers I’ve been hearing.”

When Sandy starts bouncing her legs as if she’s moving along to music, Frank sets his chilled drink on her bare shin. She yelps, kicks her heel lightly into his thigh, and gives him a disgruntled look, to which he responds gruffly without looking at her, “Stop wiggling.”

“To answer your question, Sharon,” Sam interrupts, “she’s an old friend. We were going after the same guy, so…”

“All right. That’s all I need to know for now, and if I’m on the phone too much longer, they’ll get suspicious. Sam, Bucky, please be careful.”

“Hey, Shar, wait!” Bucky blurts. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up because he has no idea what’s going on in Bucky’s head.

“What is it?” Bucky’s slight panic causes Sharon’s voice to react accordingly. 

“When you call Shuri, let her and T’Challa know we found the lab that was producing those bombs.” He gives her the address they found, then continues, “It’s probably full of stolen vibranium, so we’ll let them handle that.”

“Stolen vibranium bombs sounds super fun,” Sharon deadpans. “I’ll pass this along and get you guys a cover. In the meantime, if you run into any serious trouble, please don’t try and be a big hero. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you, Sharon. And we’re sorry to have to put you in the middle of this,” Bucky apologizes softly in that sincere way he has. Sam suddenly feels a strong rush of affection for Sharon and Bucky.

“Just send me an invitation next time and we’ll call it even.”

Sam chuckles, “Of course. Take care, and we’ll see you soon.” After he hangs up, he immediately looks at Sandy. “So two things.” He holds up one finger. “Do you know like _ every _ S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?”

“Of course not, Samwise. I used to do a lot of analysis for higher level agents, so I met a few of them here and there. Never met Barton, if that makes you feel any better.” She tilts her head as a look comes across her face, and Sam knows she’s gonna say something dumb. “I did get around, though. Before Frank and I shacked up.”

“_ Don’t _ say it like that,” Castle groans. 

_ I knew it. _

Sam wipes his hand across his face. “I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole right now.”.

“Are you—were you and Sharon a thing too?” Bucky asks at the same time. 

“No, actually,” she sighs ruefully, “we only ever met like once or twice when I dropped stuff off at her desk. She was more married to her job than anything at that point. Which is cool and all—”

“_ Anyway _ !” Sam interrupts, giving Bucky a pointed _ why did you ask her that _? look. A second finger goes into the air as he refocuses his attention fully on Sandy. “Sharon is not the only braincell among the three of us.”

“I have the other one.”

Sam’s mind goes over a million different ways he could wipe that smug grin off Bucky’s face. 

* * *

_ Flying. _

_ Explosions. _

_ Falling. _

_ Reaching. _

_ Missing. _

_ Screaming. _

_ Blood. _

Sam doesn’t have time to sit awake and go through his checklist to remind himself where he is. Bile is coming up too fast, and he barely makes it to the motel bathroom in time. Just because this isn’t the first time doesn’t mean it hurts any less. As he retches, his throat burns, his eyes burn, his head _ burns _. The only relief, physical or otherwise, since he’s focusing on staying upright enough to keep his stomach contents in the toilet, comes in the form of chilled porcelain pressed to his forehead and a hand rubbing soothing lines up and down his back. 

His arms shake as he holds onto the rim, trying to anchor him to this reality. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare. Not real. Everything’s okay. 

“Food that bad?” 

Mind still hazy, Sam doesn’t recognize the low, raspy voice at first. It must belong to the person rubbing his back, at least. And it’s not until a few moments later, when he lifts his head up to get a better look, that everything comes back to him at once. 

Bucky. Frank. Sandy. HYDRA. Brazil. Myers. Avellar. The girls.

Everything is actually not okay.

Sam’s stomach churns uncomfortably again, and he presses his forehead back to the cooled rim in preparation for another round. It doesn’t come. After a few quiet moments of heavy breathing—mainly on Sam’s part—and when he’s confident enough to do so, he leans back, carefully lowers himself to a proper sitting position with his back against the wall, and lets out a slow, uneven sigh. The bathroom lights are just too bright right now, so he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, despite unsavory images dancing across the back of his eyelids. 

“You know where you are?”

“Yeah, Frank.” A reassurance, meant for both of them.

There’s a shifting sound followed by a short nasally sigh. When Sam pops an eye open, he sees Frank leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, concern radiating off his features. “You’re safe, okay? Sandy and Bucky are on the roof keeping watch. I’m right here.”

Sam closes his eye again, nods, and manages a hoarse thanks. He doesn’t open his eyes to watch what Frank’s doing when he moves again. The faucet turns on momentarily, then a cup is tapping against his hand, accompanied by a gentle command to drink, which he follows, guzzling down the water in what must be record time. Frank quietly fills the cup two more times before Sam sets it down on the floor beside him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam sighs. He finally opens his eyes all the way and finds Frank’s taken a seat on the floor of the doorway, arms folded over the knees he’s pulled to his chest.

Frank tilts his head to the side. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“I should,” is contradicted by a head shake. He sucks in a deep breath, then admits, “Flying. Dropped someone I was carrying. Too late.”

“Anyone you know?”

“This time, yeah. Always changes, though. Sometimes it’s Riley, sometimes it’s Rhodey, sometimes Bucky. Doesn’t matter anyway if I have a face and name. This—” Sam jerks his head towards the toilet—“always happens. Always feel the same.”

“Yeah, I know. Makes you scared to close your eyes, right?”

Another nod. “I try to tell people it gets… Not easier, but you get a routine. Get ‘em less often. Avoid your triggers best you can, you’ll be okay. Some days’ll be worse than others, but you’ll be okay. Gotta try to remember my own advice.” 

“Carrying someone your trigger?” Although he phrases it as a question, it’s not. 

“Kinda hard to avoid that when you’re Captain America and your partner doesn’t fly. This doesn’t happen every time, but, I try… not to let Buck see this happen. My problem, so I gotta deal with it.” 

“You should trust your partner. To see this, see you.”

Sam leans his head back against the wall and shrugs. “I do, I do. But…I dunno, I’m just…It’s hypocritical of me, practice what you preach and whatnot. But...”

Frank’s brows lower in confusion, at first, then he outright frowns. Not angrily, as he’s done many times before. Sorrowful, this time, understanding. “You’re scared of looking weak. Like you don’t deserve the title.” Frank shakes his head. “Wilson, all of us? We know damn good and well you deserve that shield as much as Rogers did. I meant it when I said he chose right. May be hard to believe after the other night, but I don’t say shit I don’t mean. Hell, Rogers probably had his fair share of nights like this. You don’t go to war and come out unscathed.”

It takes several hard blinks to keep the tears from spilling out. Frank’s words are touching, and as much bravado as Sam puts behind his words and actions and how much he _ tries _to be worthy like he promised Steve... there’s still a small part of him that has trouble completely latching onto the idea. It’s part of the job, and he’s only human, he knows, but still.

“You and I,” Frank continues, “we may think we’re better off dealing with this shit by ourselves, but if the last few years have taught me anything, it’s this: you can’t do this alone, and you don’t have to. Our two idiots won’t let us be alone, anyway.” 

God must have a sense of humor, because the second that sentence leaves Frank’s mouth, the room door clicks open. Frank stands and leans out into the main room when Bucky asks where Sam is. His answer is a nod, and Bucky is striding into the bathroom and squatting down next to him almost immediately.

“Hey,” he whispers. “You okay?” At Sam’s weak nod, Buck settles down on the floor next to him, cross legged and flesh hand on his shoulder. He’s still dripping from the rain, and had Sam not already been drenched in sweat, he would have made some comment about getting him wet as well. Instead, he gives him a watery smile.

Sandy then comes into view, wringing her tiny ponytail out and smiling. “I was going to make a joke about how wet I am, but…” When she sees him, her face drops. “Oh, Sam.” She softly pads over to his other side and sits on the floor as well, almost perfectly mirroring Bucky’s position. Sam’s afraid he might just drown, swimming in the love radiating from the ocean of blue eyes surrounding him.

Frank stays in the doorway, seemingly afraid of crowding him, but he gives Sam a smile, deep brown eyes acting as guiding light, offering him a chance at solid ground should the ocean of love become too much.

Sam doesn’t think it ever will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the where Sharon makes her brief appearance! And I promise I'm gonna go back and edit the crap out of this cause it needs it. Hopefully next chapter won't take me another month to finish.


End file.
